Cirque de la Lune
by Koakuma Tsuri
Summary: He was the centrepiece; everything Sephiroth hated and yet he just could not turn away. But the fixation was like a moth to a flame. Sephiroth/Genesis. AU YAOI. Smut in later chapters.
1. Capture

**Just a word before I get into this:** This is basically just porn in disguise. One of those silly little disguises used in horribly cliché children's shows. You know, the thick-rimmed glasses with the huge nose and moustache? Yes, those. So instead of looking like porn, it just looks like porn dressed as an incredibly perverse man staring at you. Sounds like me! I mean sounds good to me... yeah...

Now, some may remember I did a Sephesis Vampire-fic for Sphinxofthenile. I went kinda off-course on that, so she _politely_ asked for me to make an AU to make up for my failure and naturally, I did.

As I am a busy busy busy college student, chapters might seem a little laconic and far between. This I cannot help. I have other stories, like REVOLUTION to take care of. Enjoy it nonetheless.  
Thanks to mah lurveleh beta Gee-string aka xlightfromabovex and Britney Spears for making sexy music that I can write to. ilu Britney.

Warnings: STRIPPERS. Yaoi, sex, smut, buttsecks, Genesis, heavily inspired by Tim Gunn Lazard... um... cliches and strippers?  
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, if they were... well... I'm sure you can all imagine.

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**Cirque de la Lune**

They were all the same. Façades identical. Hiding debauchery from the pious public eye with a mask of a bland simplicity. Like a picture book kept on the top shelf, safe from the grasps of curious children, they told the same story; insipid entertainment and foreplay devoid of thought and meaning.

Sighing and saving his favourite cookie-cutter analogy for another time, Sephiroth pulled the silver lever to his right and pushed the car door open. The sun shone brightly overhead; yellow light gleaming on his vehicle's sleek black bonnet when clouds did not intercept. Though the weather was fair, it was by no means warm. The telltale crispness of autumn hung in the air, snapping at his throat and nostrils every time he inhaled.

Sephiroth adjusted his sunglasses with a flick of his wrist, scrutinising the building one more time with narrow green eyes. Just a matte black cover; a sign that would illuminate at dusk ran over the top of black double doors with tinted windows in the centre, segregated into squares by wires on the inside. Perhaps a safety precaution against self-righteous activists.

During the day it was just another building, perhaps thought to be a warehouse or a private storage business for clients, only to become a breeding ground for lecherous men and exhibitionists when the sun settled for the night.

Force of habit made him indulge in such every once in a while. A vice; like a smoker bored with nicotine alternatives, he just gave in subconsciously every now and then, not noticing the lapse until his money was in the wrong hands. A moment of pleasure preceded a week of disdain.

Cheap, tasteless, abetting addiction, going to one club seemed to be going to them all. And Sephiroth had graced a lot of the clubs along this street in his time. It might make a small variation to see one from a different angle, as a different kind of man.

He only had to knock once on the black door to immediately hear locks clicking and hinges creaking open. Green eyes glared at him through an inch-wide gap between one door and the other. They narrowed, scrutinizing him with contempt.

"Yes?" the gruff voice of the owner of those eyes inquired. More demanding than what would be expected of the service industry. An instant strike on the tally that was already fixed by Sephiroth's bias.

"Sephiroth Crescent. I have an appointment with Mr. Deusericus."

What sounded like a dozen chain locks were flicked in rapid succession before the whole door swung open. In its place stood a tall man, entirely clad in black with short silver hair slicked back. He stepped back, wordlessly ordering Sephiroth to follow.

Inside it was dark, lit only by the same lights that would be on for most of the night. Red-tinted bulbs cast a preternatural light down on polished tables and leather chairs and the gleaming chrome of the table legs and various poles dotting the back portion of the large main room.

"Wait here," the man instructed and pointed his hand down to a large black leather sofa a few yards away from the main stage.

Wordlessly, Sephiroth sat and settled his briefcase on the floor. The doorman turned on his heel and stalked off down a dark and narrow corridor beside the stage. Already, Sephiroth was thinking up initial plans (though he didn't have much experience of renovating strip clubs) and mentally exploring ways to make the place seem bigger than it was. Matt black walls certainly had an oppressive, coffin-like feel to them.

"Well, if the interior designers look this good I'd love to see the emergency services of this town."

Sephiroth turned to the voice that he recalled as the one which had spoken down the phone to him three days previously. The owner of such suave and deep intonation was tall, slim and blonde; impeccably dressed with thin-rimmed semicircular glasses covering steel blue eyes. Hanging off each arm were two of the most effeminate males Sephiroth had ever seen, dressed as clichés with feather boas, short satin gowns and high-heeled sandal boots and long, straight silver hair. Both looked hardly old enough to drive, let alone work in a club like this.

"Lazard Deusericus." The blonde freed his right hand to offer it forth. "I'm glad you could come at such short notice."

"It's no problem." Sephiroth could feel the gaze of the two boys on him, eyeing up looks and wealth. Unfortunately, Sephiroth had found, to the simple eyes of a whore he had both in copious amounts. So he tried to keep his eyes on Lazard himself.

The blonde smiled warmly before shrugging away his two young companions. "Go play now, kittens, Daddy has work to do."

The pair of them broke away with little protests that were whines, but traipsed over to the stage to entertain themselves. And perhaps Lazard as well, judging from where his eyes had left Sephiroth in favour of.

Clearing his throat, Sephiroth fought to regain the blonde's attention as the two boys began dancing with each other. From the distance it was hard to miss but he tried regardless. "So, what's the overall ambience you're trying to create?"

Lazard smiled, straightening his pinstripe suit lapels and settling into the other side of the sofa, legs crossed. Though Sephiroth admittedly didn't know much about clothes, it was easy to tell from the alignment of the stripes that the suit was well-made, and expensive. "As a strip club, obviously something exotic - but not in a cliché fashion. Something surreal, dark and sophisticated."

Nodding, Sephiroth noted everything down. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see those boys grinding and teasing each other, all fluid moments of thin, white limbs that glowed in the subdued lighting.

"As the Cirque de la Lune, I suppose the connotations of that have to be taken into account. Something personal, welcoming and inclusive as well. You'll quickly find that we're all like a family here." Lazard smiled. He suddenly had a glass in hand, and sipped from it delicately. Whatever it was looked nearly black in the overhead lights.

Sephiroth bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to sneer his reply. "It certainly must be a pleasant experience for your patrons."

The blonde's eyes narrowed as a blade-sharp smirk spread across his handsome, aristocratic features. He took another sip from his drink before resting that arm on the sofa's side. "It is. Perhaps you should join us tonight. It would be a great way of exploring exactly what I mean about the aura we want to create." He leant closer, firmly placing his hand on the silver haired man's knee. "And you look like you need the fun."

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Entirely unsure what had fooled him and dragged him back to the appropriately named 'Cirque', Sephiroth sat silently in the sofa he had been in that very morning, directed to it by the same gruff doorman as before. Other visiting men stared at him in intermissions, questioning why he would be constantly scribbling things down in a notepad instead of focusing on the androgynous beauties that sauntered out in small groups from that corridor beside the stage.

The music was loud, though not entirely distasteful as most others were. He could work to its slow, cultured rhythm; low vocals merged together into a hum that followed freely and unnoticed through his mind but provided a welcome cover over goading, perverse cries from fickle men.

"Well, well, well. I almost didn't expect you to come." Sephiroth instantly recognised Lazard's voice. Cool breath danced with the strands of his hair, affirming that the eccentric man was standing behind him. He heard the hum that also told that the man was reading his notes.

Lazard stepped around the sofa to seat himself casually into the space besides Sephiroth. "Such cynicism."

The silver haired man sighed, lowering his notepad and glancing at the blonde. "Strip clubs are—"

"All the same to you? Then why not strive to make this one different?"

Sephiroth hummed, not really contemplating the gesture. He'd do what he could to keep the client happy, ensure that business went well and that he was paid his worth.

"Maybe I hired you knowing you'd bring a new facet to the Cirque."

The nameless song that had been playing faded to an end, and the current trio of dancers – a collection of pretty brunettes – left the stage at the protests of many of the all-too-eager audience. Lazard glanced at the gold watch on his left wrist and smirked.

A new song streamed from the speakers that were hidden somewhere in the shadows of the ceiling, much darker and instrumentally based than the others. The stage was shrouded in a low red light. Just one light, instead of the two, three or four. The audience fell silent. They were entranced, and to a certain extent, so was Sephiroth. Though it was the sudden change in mood, going from the gaudy crudeness attempting to appear as something more that he was used to, to what Lazard had explained that morning as what his club was meant to symbolise.

As the beat began to pick up, pianos weaving a beautiful narrative in harmony with teased string of violins, Sephiroth noticed a slim figure moving through the shadows, approaching the centre stage. And as soon as that entered the light, the audience yelled their approval; green eyes grew wide.

He moved with such delicate precision, in perfect time with the music as if he was one of the played instruments himself, so fluid it was feline and surreal. The light hid the colour of his hair, leaving only scarlet-tinted flesh where black material did not cover it. Long legs were encased in jet boots, high-heeled though he showed no signs of struggling in them.

It wasn't until that man took to the pole that Sephiroth's trace broke. The rest of the routine would just be routine. There were only so many things and moves to be pulled with that one prop. And unlike many others that he had seen that evening, this man only had himself, and the little clothes he had on. But even though his habitual hostility was creeping back into his consciousness, Sephiroth couldn't avert his eyes from the nameless dancer on the stage.

"And that is our centrepiece. Funny how you're so interested in everything the Cirque represents," Lazard commented flatly. "His name is Genesis."

Sephiroth let the man's voice wash over him, not catching anything but that single name. Genesis. The book in which mankind effectively sealed itself in a deadly fate all for the desire to taste a forbidden fruit. The ultimate sin. How utterly fitting. How utterly manufactured.

Dazzling blue eyes flashed in Sephiroth's direction, as if he had called out the dancer's name – though he was absolutely certain that he had remained wholly silent. They scoured him over, judging as all the others did with a pleased smirk. But that expression on the face was so fitting… so right it was wrong.

And he maintained eye contact throughout the rest of his performance, heavy lidded as his jaw hung slack and he grinded himself back against the metal of the pole. The flimsy material of Genesis' chosen garments fluttered in each moment, offering a glimpse of his skin, and the shadows that revealed defined muscles that were truly aesthetic, but at the same time screamed vanity.

Sephiroth found himself consumed with the wonder of why the dancer was fixated on him. He was not dressed as anything special – in fact he had gone to great lengths to appear as mediocre as he could – and there were many others who looked as if they had much larger businesses beneath their belts. So consumed, his ears failed to inform him that the beautiful song was drawing to a close, as Genesis' movements built to a faux emotional crescendo.

The spotlight on the stage switched off suddenly, leaving a frustratingly open ending, an ending that stayed that way. There was no 'encore' like some dancers offered, eager to milk men for all they had.

Lazard pushed himself to his feet and placed a hand upon Sephiroth's shoulder. "Come with me."

The room that he was lead to down that single corridor was small and had two doors. The other was directly opposite where Sephiroth stood, a black leather chair stood in the middle. It was the only thing in the room. Lazard stepped back and closed the door.

Sighing, Sephiroth walked over to the chair and sat down. Fingers drummed the soft arms, eyes focused in the direction of that second door. His blonde client was obviously trying to change his opinion on the subject of strip clubs, providing him with a little surprise. Whatever came through that door could make him condone places like these. But, he also knew the necessity of them, so although that bitter longing was not tainting his mouth and mind, he waited and would accept the blonde's gift.

Slowly, the lights dimmed to a familiar dark red; mentally Sephiroth noted that it may be favourable for each room to have a different theme or style, for variety, as well as Lazard's favourite multi-faceted concept. Thoughts of design abandoned him when the door slid open to the side and that last dancer sauntered in. There was no over exaggeration, if any exaggeration at all; he walked as if the gait was entirely natural. His clothes had changed, showing a little less skin now due to a long satin gown that went down to his knees. The black boots remained.

"Mr. Deusericus tells me that you're not too fond of clubs…" Genesis paced the room, each step an iambic click of heels on laminate. "And yet, I saw myself that you couldn't take your eyes off of me."

Sephiroth closed his eyes and shut out that amused tone, surprised a little at the depth of the voice of a man so androgynous. He could feel those crystal eyes upon him, smirking and scheming.

"He thinks, with some experience of myself, you could become quite the fan of our little establishment."

Sephiroth felt two hands lay on his knees and he opened his eyes once more to meet with Genesis' on his level. He couldn't help but know that his expression was tangibly cynical.

"My name is Genesis Rhapsodos, and before you comment that _is_ my birth name - and I find you quite attractive, Mr. Interior Designer Man."

"Sephiroth," he said. Genesis smiled widely, white teeth gleaming. In the close proximity, his hair was clearly red, though a complex mix of many shades and colours that must have looked beautiful in sunlight.

A slender hand pulled at the tie of the robe that covered him, and it slid to the floor with a whisper. "First name terms already? I knew you'd warm up to me."

Music fired up in the main room again and the heavy bassline continued through the wall to them. Genesis' hips moved seamlessly to the rhythm; his whole body a wave of rippling muscles that Sephiroth denied that he yearned to feel. Flesh was smooth, pale and hairless, as flawless as the leather that covered his legs; legs that were slowly rising to straddle him.

A flare shot up in Sephiroth's mind, and his body went stiff in a way Genesis certainly didn't want. Gut instinct was telling him to run, like a sparrow flees the moment it hears the slightest hint of a call of a hawk. There was almost no thought process in it at all, and before either of them could protest, cry or demand an explanation – or apology – Sephiroth was out of the door and gone.


	2. Taint

Aaah, Chapter II. Much loves to everyone who reviewed and I mean_ everyone_. I actually really enjoy writing this, which probably doesn't show in the length of the chapters. ha-ha. ANYWAY. Please enjoy and review. Reviews are love. And Chaos likes love. Yes yes.

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Armed with a tape measure, notepad and his trusty mechanical pencil, Sephiroth entered the room that was furthest from the stage, along the narrow corridor and closest to Lazard's large office. The door was plain and black, where the paint had not flaked away, and a little yellow post-it note was attached at eye height proclaiming a single letter.

_G_.

Inside, a window was cut into the far wall, long and narrow and near the ceiling blocked by old newspapers and mismatched oblongs of mottled and mouldy plywood. A long couch ran parallel underneath the window. Red silk cushions were propped up, two on either end, bearing creases of heavy use.

On the wall to Sephiroth's left was a shelf that held a wide variety of containers and bottles, all colours from chalk and porcelain to green and crimson. Make up, he surmised, not being accustomed to seeing such things close up, if ever at all. One thing that confused him was the lack of a mirror usually synonymous with rooms like these. Strippers were vain creatures.

Very little natural light entered; when it did, it was in the form of slim shafts down upon jet-black vases filled with jet-black flowers, though in the sunlight they gleamed a deep velvet richness of purple and red. Sephiroth would have never expected such opulence in a place like this – an entertainer's dressing room – even in the most conceited of clubs.

The petals were soft on his bare fingers, a feel like a lover's flesh but cold. Flowers were a rarity in the city, tending to be expensive and regarded as an unnecessary luxury because of their transient lives. Beautiful for a few days before they began to rot. A sudden ruckus of chatter and the clack of heeled shoes outside dragged Sephiroth out of his musing.

The room itself, quite small and cluttered, would not be so much of an effort to improve as one might have thought. A new coat of paint and an adoption of Sephiroth's personal favourite minimalist style could change the oppressive ambience right around. Swapping the couch around for something brand new and sleeker; exchanging all the current faux-wood drawers and shelves for neo-baroque mirrored glass that would reflect that little sunlight the entered and open the room up to new dimensions. He scribbled such initial observations down onto his notepad before readying the tape measure to do its duty.

"My, my," a familiarly deep voice muttered whimsically from behind. Sephiroth spun around, surprised, not hearing the door open or any footsteps, to be confronted by black-rimmed azure blue eyes under a thick fringe of cinnamon red hair. "With the speed you left last night, I'm surprised to see you in the building, let alone in _my_ dressing room."

"_Your_ dressing room?" Sephiroth repeated, taking in his surroundings all over again. Suddenly the flowers made sense. This man was no ordinary entertainer. Genesis nodded and slid his thigh-length red coat off his shoulders. Underneath was surprisingly simple attire, just tight, black – obviously designer brands as the tailoring too fine for anything bought on the high street; fit too well to be anything that was not perhaps custom-made.

"So, what can I do for you?" The way Genesis' practised lips wrapped around the utterance that was a painfully blatant subversion of something so universal. It took skill, being able to do as such so easily without sounding too depraved or just trying too hard at seduction, learning techniques from low budget porn films shown late at night on the terrestrial channels.

Swallowing the unexpected, and despised, lump in his throat, Sephiroth fumbled to present his tape measure. "Taking measurements."

Genesis grinned, walking over to the couch in a typical confident gait. "Well, inside leg measurement 36 inches, waist 30 inches, shoe size 11 and pe-"

"The room. Measurements of the room. For my _job_," Sephiroth snapped icily.

The expression was not wiped from the redhead's face. "And I'm just doing mine, as I was last night before you vanished." He sighed and threw himself down onto the furniture. "That hurt, you know."

Sephiroth snorted and continued mapping out a basic schematic of the room to translate into designs and whatnot back at his office. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Genesis starting to undress. Nimble fingers made swift work of the tiny buttons that held his shirt together. Each time his wrists lowered, another inch of flawless, pale skin was revealed. He was far from the painted with bruises and hickeys whores that Sephiroth was used to. His state of perfection shouted narcissism as much as his clothed appearance did.

He must be like a chore to have sex with. All rules and orders. No biting, no kissing and no bruising grasps… Genesis himself would probably be more than happy to gift such pleasures on his clients, not that Sephiroth would really mind much—

He shook his head to dispel such thoughts, their being neither appropriate nor wanted. Blue eyes rose to stare at him in wonder. Crossing his right leg comfortably tightly over his left, Genesis rested back against the sofa. His shirt melded in with the hardy material, showing the toned expanse of his chest and stomach. Sephiroth soldiered on with his work, distracting himself with numbers and pretending he wasn't just _slightly _interested in that body and ignoring the fact that Genesis was painfully aware of the latter. The smirk on glossed lips said it all.

"What a boring life you must lead."

Sephiroth bit his tongue. Green eyes flickered to the wall behind Genesis' head – the only wall he hadn't measured and one he couldn't really access without going within close proximity of the couch, and that which occupied it. The dancer's smile was far over the 'smug' line of content and nestled into the too-soft padding he sat on.

"Come on, I don't bite without _expressed_ permission," he drawled.

With a grunt, Sephiroth stepped forwards and leaned over to the back of the couch to reach the wall. Busy trying not to make a mistake, he failed to notice Genesis shifting, his weight almost constant on the couch to avoid raising awareness until the first thing Sephiroth felt was a slender finger dragging along the seam of his jeans between his legs. He shivered and hissed out a warning, to which Genesis just laughed.

"Call me what you will, but I can _smell_ your frustration." Pale hands remained close to Sephiroth's body, and cool breath could be felt on his flesh under two layers of cotton.

"Perhaps because you're wholly too practised in these arts," the silver haired male offered as a bitter explanation.

"Arts? I'm an artisan now? I haven't been called that in a good few years," muttered Genesis, corners of his lips twisting. Then shocking blue eyes flickered upwards and stared into emerald green. Such a clear colour contradicted the enigmatic though entirely filthy man that they graced. Like a child's face on the most disease-ridden of the Devil's concubines. "Perhaps it's frustration that you haven't fucked anything good for a while?"

Sephiroth's gaze narrowed into a glare. Was he that easy to read or was this sinfully beautiful creature getting off on angering him? Either way, the redhead was working his magic, and before Sephiroth realised what it was, his hand threaded into Genesis' hair and tugged him closer. The latter rose to his knees with a victorious smirk. His own hands slid to cup audaciously around Sephiroth's clothed buttocks and squeezed gently, urging for a kiss that was only an inch away.

"Tell me, Genesis," speaking it for the first time; Sephiroth found he rather enjoyed the smoothness of that name on his tongue. The hiss of sibilance so suiting of the man himself. "Are flowers intended to be a permanent feature?"

Laughing, the redhead drew his arms up around Sephiroth's neck and pulled him down to the couch with a surprising ease, even with that stubbornness that resisted the dancer's grip.

"I really don't understand you," Genesis muttered, nestling into the crook of Sephiroth's neck and inhaling the man's scent. Deep and rich; masculinity with a twist of expensive cologne and aftershave for especially sensitive skin.

Sephiroth could vaguely feel the cool smoothness of Genesis' back as he palmed over it, lost in the tingling sensations of breath on his neck. Lips traced the vein just under flesh, leaving sticky imprints of fruit flavoured gloss. Apple, he had guessed from their face-to-face position.

Without there ever being a knock on the door, it swung open and Lazard stood alone in the empty threshold. Steel eyes exasperated and lips taut in a thin line.

"Genesis," he said, tone an acerbic warning. "You could at least _wait_until he's done his job."

The redhead sighed irritably and pushed Sephiroth away.

"Sephiroth," Lazard's voice turned back to the suave slickness that the named man was accustomed to. "The stage is free, if you'd like to measure up there now."

Nodding, Sephiroth slid off the couch without a glance or acknowledgement to Genesis. As he walked to the door, he noticed the glance of pure reprimand that the blonde shot Genesis, but he never looked back to see the reply.

Like it had been the first time he entered the club, the main room was deserted; lit only by those deep red lights. Lazard walked straight up to the largest of the couches in front of the stage and laid across it, watching as Sephiroth approached the stage wielding his tape measure and frowning.

"Where has everyone else gone?" he asked when the silence grew a little stifling. Every time he glanced up, Lazard was staring at him, near-smirking with his blue eyes. It raised the little hairs on the back of Sephiroth's neck.

"They've out to explore the town."

"And why not Genesis?"

Lazard smiled and reached for a half-empty glass on the table, still black and near-iridescent in the light. "Genesis has little interest in the world, preferring poems, classic literature and anything else he can sink his teeth into."

Sephiroth tried not to sneer, perhaps failing so he turned back to his work. Genesis may have tried to separate himself in style, dress and culture, but underneath that pretty exterior was just another attention-seeking void like all the others. Shaking his head to dispel such lingering, his mind pondered thoughts of changing the entire layout of the main room, not just giving it a coat of paint and some different upholstery, to suit the 'Cirque' in the name; a facet that Lazard had proposed to be a focus point of the business' theme. However, the thought of the decadent redhead bubbled back, curious as to just why he sought to be different.

He was an acquired taste, Sephiroth had detected the previous night, seeing how out of the many men in the crowd, some were scowling – not at all taken by his slightly more _tasteful _approach to entertaining. If such a thing could be said, he seemed a little more traditional in lacking lewdness, loudness of heavy cacophony. He seemed more… refined, like an aristocrat rather than a blue-collar exhibitionist looking for easy money.

"He's not at all like you think, Mr. Crescent." Lazard pulled him from the silent muse. Scary that he automatically knew what was going on inside that silver head. "In fact, given a little time, I see you becoming quite close—"

"I don't want to get close to a stripper," Sephiroth snapped, reeling on the reclining blonde who just smirked at him. A white-gloved finger trailed lightly over the rim of his glass.

"Tell me, was it your father or your mother who denied you happiness as a child?"

Sephiroth stiffened, boiling over inside though he kept outwardly cold, composed, icy. Just as plain as Lazard's tone.

"This habit of self-denial must have come from somewhere…"

Biting the inside of his cheek, Sephiroth continued on with his work. The notes he was taking turned darker, as he pushed his pencil harder into the paper. He heard Lazard scoff behind him.

"Genesis is right though."

Sephiroth glanced to the side; only the motions of his hair betrayed such movements. He found Lazard had sat up, now cross legged and watching him with the curiosity of a scientist would his latest experiment. Analysing and reading him.

"What a very boring life you must lead."

"Mr. Deusericus, I came here because you hired me to renovate this place. I did not come here to be judged by people who don't know _me_."

The blonde chuckled and pushed himself to his feet. Readjusting the way his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, he walked over to Sephiroth, grinning. "You're a lot like him actually."

Sephiroth frowned.

"Stubborn, opinionated, arrogant. You are going to be quite close _indeed_."

"I told you, I—"

"Take this as a warning, Mr. Crescent, when Genesis sets his eye on something, he won't stop until he has it."


	3. Fixation

This could've been out sooner, I'll admit. Blame the muse. It refused to cooperate. ANYWAY, this glorious chapter III was kindly _PR'_ed by Gee-String. Kidding, ilu. And I love everyone who reviews too! I would come an give you all hugs but that would make me stupidly poor, so you'll have to make do with this 030. Now, Karukumi, of course Sephiroth tops. When have I ever written any different? (Save the early days of the G100, gen topped there a few times *shudder*).

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Weak sunlight filtered through curtains that hung from a simple railing across the large window in Sephiroth's bedroom. It was bordering on the late morning; outside noise prevalent over the ticking of the clock on the wall. Cars on the streets below, people wandering past on their way through their merry lives.

Rolling over, Sephiroth cursed himself for not thinking ahead and shutting the window the previous night when he fell into bed after the three days of anger at Lazard's audacity, and frustration over that sinister prolepsis.

Unwilling to face that interfering blonde so soon, he had taken a few days out from working at the club, digesting his measurements and initial notes at his desk in his apartment in the city.

Of course, being away from the scene did not mean that it was out of his mind. Often the redheaded dancer would drift into his thoughts, intoxicating his concentration with the scent of spicy cologne and apple lip gloss. He didn't even get to taste it – not that he wanted to, of course, because that would have been wrong – but the thought lingered, giving rise to a wonder and a wish that he would in the future. To protect himself from a lapse in resolve, like those lapses that drew him to clubs as a paying customer only so much worse, Sephiroth distanced himself.

With nothing to distract him, and with the train that carries sleep through its various stages not returning to collect him for a while, all he could do was contemplate Genesis, Lazard and that strange place that, although he didn't want to admit it, was different to the other clubs he knew. Even with the exact same decoration and usage as any other, it was just unique, and he didn't know why. The aura was dissimilar, relationships between the workers like siblings rather than colleagues and all showed some measure of respect to the suited blonde that was closer to some patriarchal figure than an employer.

Sighing, Sephiroth rubbed tired eyes with the back of his index finger and pulled himself out of the warm covers to plant his feet on the cool laminate of the floor. There was no use in wallowing. It just confirmed that he had fallen victim to Genesis' game; increased the chances of Lazard's words coming true. It was common for him to obsess mentally over someone before taking the next step.

Legs carried him through his apartment, from the bedroom to the living room and the little kitchenette in the corner. Worktops were black granite, thick and shining in the light of the room, here brighter than the bedroom as he had not bothered to draw the curtains across the open windows the previous evening, preferring fresh air to circulate freely. Better to wake to a new atmosphere rather than the trapped and festering evening beforehand.

He reached out to a small white breadbin underneath the cupboards that overhung the work surface. Taking out a loaf, he dropped two slices into the toaster without contemplation; he filled the kettle from the tap and switched it on.

He stood watching idly until it popped back out, now golden brown. He treated it with the usual amount of butter; just enough to give it taste but not saturate it in oil, and was just about to pick a random jar of jam from an open cupboard when the concept of sweetened fruit brought back the scent of Genesis' lip gloss again. Suddenly, the plain, buttered toast seemed more than suitable.

With another, heavier sigh, Sephiroth ambled into the larger portion of the room, passing a little table beside the sofa where he noticed his phone blinking with an alert. He pressed the little flashing play button before continuing munching on the toast.

"Ah, Mr. Crescent! Lazard Deusericus here. I'm ringing to see how work's coming along? Good, I trust?" The blonde's fiendishly chirpy voice drawled through the speaker. The very sound had the frown chisel itself deeper into Sephiroth's face. "Haven't seen you in a while, anything the matter? I was wondering if you have forgotten the Cirque's ambience. Perhaps you should join us tonight. Genesis tells me he's putting on a special show; he'd hate for you to miss it. Hope to see you then.

_bleep_

"Message received – today – at – nine– thirty two – pm. End of messages."

Keeping the sneer on his face, Sephiroth walked back to the kitchenette, where the kettle had finally boiled and cooled to make the perfect latte. After preparing the drink, upon opening the milk that he had pulled out of the fridge beneath the worktop, he found its smell was sour. Expression twisting downward again, he poured it down the sink - and then when he went to another cupboard, determined to have a drink to wake him and start the day off on a new footing, there was no more.

At this rate, Sephiroth reflected, he would be going to the Cirque today: if only so he could have something else to blame for the way this day was seemingly going rather than his forgetfulness to maintain his food stocks when under the influence of… _him_.

With bright lights and a plethora of different people milling around, all oblivious of each others' existence though they could see one another quite clearly, Sephiroth's local supermarket was a welcome change to where he had feared his feet would guide him.

It was in a lighter, brighter side of town: a side of town where people could walk down the street comfortably, normally; without fear of their wife or employer seeing them there.

As it had been recently, Sephiroth's subconscious was the one that carried him through the day, as the rest of him simply wandered and drifted from place to place, only occasionally surfacing to speak to whomever was asking. The last thing he wanted was to speak the wrong name to the right person and suffer under the assumption that he was just one of perhaps many that had fallen for the dancer's unique presentation and nature.

He often wondered just how many people knew how deep that redhead's act was ingrained into him. Decadence onstage was not turned down off it, as it was with many other workers at clubs he recurrently visited.

Rather than just work there, the dancers seemed to live there. All of those days he'd been unfortunate to have to be there for more than a few hours, there was always people milling around, sitting and staring, instead of going out and living their normal lives elsewhere. In fact, when he visited, Sephiroth felt as if he was the only one there who was actually alive, instead of an animated extension of a dark building in a seedy district—

"Would you like any cash back, Sir?"

Shaking his head to clear it, he simply uttered a "No, thank you."

As the girl sorted out the receipt, Sephiroth's gaze wandered around the shop floor. People continued on their merry way, ticking one thing off their list after another as the contents of their trolleys or baskets grew. Each one of them different, but each one merged into another.

Until out of the corner of his eye, by the stand where all the fresh flowers were kept, he saw a familiar figure; one that he could easily recognise even though it was facing the other way. A slim form, clad in black and red with vibrant hair neatly coiffed despite the weather that had taken a turn for the worse moments before Sephiroth left his apartment.

Genesis' stance was a pose, as the man was most likely unable to pull anything else in public. His hands and hips arranged perfectly, enough that it drew green eyes into a stare. Some doubt of the man' sincerity in being here at the same time bubbled up in Sephiroth's mind. How he would be in such plain sight was also a factor that led to the debatable assumption.

The girl held out the receipt, which he took and went on his way. He didn't see Genesis move but caught a glimpse of his hair, where the layers flicked out at the back, wavering in motion.

Continuing on, not gracing the other, no matter how much they both wanted, with one more glance, Sephiroth left.

Instead of going straight home with his groceries, even with the milk, Sephiroth dawdled down one of the more popular commercial roads on his route back.

As it wasn't the high street, the shops that lined the pavement were only dotted every few doors with brand names and franchises, and were otherwise independent; boutiques and whatnot. Unlike many others, and increasingly, it seemed, Sephiroth was not so much interested in fashion as people would assume of his occupation. He preferred style in smart casual and tended to avoid many of the generic of stores, more for the lack of a proper fit than anything else. Tall and well muscled and yet still slim, it was hard to find something that wasn't too short, too baggy or too tight in the garments mass-produced for the apparently cookie-cut masses.

Sephiroth frequented one shop more than any other for his clothes, liking the styles it catered for, and the wider, more considerate variety of sizes it stocked. Here, it was much easier to find things he could actually wear for work, rather than for exercise. It was a small store, relatively well-lit; mostly just racks forming three aisles that led to the back, where shoes and a few accessories were kept such as belts and hats. Sephiroth had never sampled the latter. His one true indulgence in vanity was his hair, keeping it long and consistently flawless and neat and straight, so to cover it up was almost sacrilege. In a way, when on that line of thought, he could almost excuse Genesis of his quirks – where the dancer took a painful amount of pride in his entire appearance.

Skimming through a few metres of shirts on the rack furthest from the door, Sephiroth was distracted enough to actually jump when two hands settled snugly on his hips. Too firm and confident to be a simple mistake of identity; he turned his head to find Genesis glancing over his shoulder to the variety of garments on their hangers.

"Finding something nice to wear for tonight? I think a royal blue would suit your skin tone."

Shirking the redhead's hands off him, Sephiroth moved to the side to regain a little of his personal space. Genesis stood up straight, one hip slightly out to the side as he flicked through the all but discarded rack.

"Are you following me?"

Laughing, Genesis glanced at him from the corner of his crystal eyes, as always defined by a smoky smudge of charcoal. "I was just looking for some new flowers but nothing grabbed my eye. Then I saw you come in here and I wanted to talk to you. Is there anything wrong in that?"

Sephiroth had to still his tongue momentarily. It would not be such a good idea to insult Genesis directly, out of propriety as well as a lack of wanting. "Talk to me?"

"Yes. Lazard was of the opinion that you were no longer interested in the project, or that somehow I had frightened you off." He was almost chuckling. "But _I_ know it's because you're afraid."

Sephiroth had nothing to say in return. Green eyes continued to stare, only quickly darting either side to see if there was anyone close enough to overhear that blasé drawl.

"You're not used to being around people so confident in themselves. It makes you feel small. Like a rabbit in a den of wolves, you want to distance yourself in some attempt at self-preservation. But you need not worry, none of the _others_ will touch you."

"It's more than that." The words slipped from Sephiroth's mouth before he could silence himself. Genesis twisted to smile narrowly at him.

"Oh? Then please share with me. As an anthropologist, I am most curious as to the making of a man such as yourself. The only one to ever run away from me like some blushing Catholic schoolboy."

The silver-haired man shrugged and averted his gaze. He readjusted his grip on the carrier bag that held his shopping. "I have no interest—"

"Oh no, I don't suppose you do, which is why you were so prepared to kiss me not so long ago—"

"I was not going to kiss you," Sephiroth hissed, leaning closer to keep his voice down. But Genesis just smirked as he raised his volume a tad above discrete.

"No, I suppose palming my ass and nestling yourself in quite cosily doesn't mean you're interested at all." The smirk twisted to be sharper when another man in the next aisle looked at them waspishly. "Were the actions purely subconscious or are you just in denial that much?"

"If this is all in some attempt to get me to come and see you tonight, I'd rather you just leave me alone." Sephiroth started to walk towards the door and the other followed a pace or two behind.

"And you'll come?" The words lacked the optimism that other people might have injected into them, as if Genesis already knew the answer. And judging from the laboured sigh that haunted his eyes, he did. Pretty features cast into a frown, Sephiroth almost spouted the wrong confirmation. As much as it annoyed him to prove the redhead and his blonde boss right with everything he did, there was no changing ways now.

"I don't think so."


	4. Ultimatum

Ultimatum

"Now, add those sage leaves to the frying chicken."

Sephiroth quickly transferred the herb from his little white chopping board to the saucepan that sizzled loudly to his left. Two equal-sized chicken breasts were cooking inside, surrounded by cuts of bacon. Even with the sage added, it hardly looked appetising.

Green eyes turned back to the large flat TV screen the other side of the kitchen worktop. The nauseatingly cheery presenter smiled at him, as if encouraging that no matter what he was cooking looked like, it would be delicious in the end simply because _she_ was telling him how to make it.

"Give it a bit of a stir - oh, it smells delicious, doesn't it?"

Sephiroth glanced at the bottle of wine to his right and weighed up the chances of the experience of drinking it now and on its own drowning out the annoyance that this woman caused to bubble up in his brain and being more enjoyable than enduring and eating it as an ingredient to the meal.

"How much wine you add just depends on personal preference. I would suggest about--"

Ding Dong.

Loosening the cork as the TV talked at him, Sephiroth's gaze immediately shot to the door the moment the shrill sound of his doorbell burst through his apartment. It was probably just another pointless activist asking for his signature on an aimless piece of paper, so he ignored it with a grunt. Now he didn't know how much wine was needed. Although _his_ personal preference called for the entire bottle.

And then whoever it was rung again.

And the customary thirty seconds later, again.

Sighing, Sephiroth slung the saucepan off the heat to stop the chicken from spoiling and strode from the kitchenette over to the door. When he opened it, he immediately found himself trapped in the gaze of two unmistakable azure eyes. They travelled down him, grinning.

"Expecting me?" Genesis raised a hand to take the bottle of wine. He inspected it quickly. Just a glimmer of white teeth were visible from between his glossed pink lips. "I admire your taste, though I prefer reds."

"Hardly." Sephiroth's expression didn't change from indifferent as he reached to take the bottle back. He leant that arm against the doorframe, effectively blocking it. "What're you doing here?"

Shrugging, Genesis made a point of leaning back on his heels. Momentarily, the other fell for it, eyes wandering down to take in Genesis's sleek frame, dripping with his exquisite, though eccentric, tastes.

Blinking, Sephiroth broke the enchantment and cleared his throat. He ignored the smirk that spread across the redhead's features. "This, I'm sure, is something akin to stalking."

"Perhaps. Can I come in?"

Sephiroth's lips tightened as he considered. Genesis' choice of dress almost screamed his intention – though, Sephiroth had never seen him in anything else, always tight black and designer, and he was still a whore, after all. And even upon refusal, he could expect that the redhead would not leave until _he_ was bored. "Do you get nights off?"

"I'm sure the Cirque can live without me for one night. Or are you just eager to see what you missed last night?" He laughed as Sephiroth hastily averted his eyes. "I have no qualms in a private performance."

"Hardly." He moved back into the apartment, giving Genesis the room he so desired. He took Genesis' heavy coat and hung it up besides his own, but granted no other pleasantries than a gesture towards the sofa. Genesis wandered over to it in his own time, too busy exploring the room with those irritatingly pretty eyes.

When he did sit down, his confidence radiating just from the position of his crossed legs and arms running the length of the back, he watched Sephiroth return back to the kitchenette and switched off the TV altogether with a simple press of the remote lethargically. "For a designer, your decoration is surprisingly bland."

"I design for the client. My own personal preferences play a very small part in the product," Sephiroth muttered loud enough to be heard as he sloshed a random measure of wine into the saucepan with the chicken.

Something told him that Genesis would invite himself for dinner, and all the effort of making the dish would be wasted as he concentrated on keeping his icy façade up. Although he was still somewhat bewildered as to why his hackles raised so high sometimes when the redhead was close. Just as the other had said the previous day, it was a feeling like he was prey, but in a different way than it had been meant. And still, Sephiroth couldn't deny, though would not admit, he found him interesting. But it seemed Genesis had an insatiable appetite for the act – perhaps it was masochism or an irrational desire to locate the man under layer upon layer of cold indifference.

He hardly noticed that Genesis had relocated until he turned back to the chopping board and found the redhead leaning against the worktop. "Chicken in wine, hmm?" He gestured to the saucepan, where the meat was soaking up the thin sauce eagerly. "So you _are_ expecting someone?"

Sephiroth shook his head silently. Genesis' smile returned and he slipped behind the other to turn down the heat of the hob.

"You have to be careful, or the heat will ruin the taste of the wine."

"You've made this before?" The silver haired man couldn't quell the surprised tone that worked itself into his voice. It had Genesis twisting back to face him; he noticed how the thin silk of his shirt creased, giving his back a beautiful curve that without thinking, he almost laid a hand upon. But it remained fisted at his side, twitching.

"My love of reading throughout my life has led me to knowing a lot of recipes," the redhead replied. "Now, what vegetables do you prefer?"

Far from the setting of the club, or any possible eyes to view and adore him, Sephiroth could almost, _almost_, forget Genesis' occupation and instead put his constant desire to flaunt himself purely down to an extrovert nature. A simple confidence that he knew he was attractive and a style that many fashionistas craved to call their own.

He was as intelligent as his eyes were deep; as cultured as the smooth cadence of his voice hinted. Sephiroth let his eyes lose their apathetic edge as he stared from his armchair – whilst Genesis was sat on the sofa, leaving enough room for him. As much as Sephiroth wanted to take that seat, he refrained himself, and Genesis knew this. A fact he seemed all too eager to tease with, adjusting his position occasionally and tapping that space with the long fingers of his left hand.

"Dinner was delicious," the redhead commented with an absent smile, eyes fixated on the near-clear wine that remained in his glass as he rotated his wrist indolently. "Thank you."

"It probably would have been ruined if it wasn't for your expertise," Sephiroth noted and took a sip from his own glass. He saw Genesis' eyes suddenly flicker back to him, and that smile morphed into something darker.

"My, Sephiroth, the compliments seem to be coming easier tonight."

"No point in denying what is true."

Humming, Genesis's attention returned to the wine. "So your problem truly does lie with the Cirque, and not myself." He exchanged the cross of his legs to bring his right on top. "Then why do you deny yourself of me?"

Again, Sephiroth quickly moved his eyes elsewhere, suddenly finding the shadows cast by the uplighter incredibly interesting. He heard Genesis' sigh though he didn't return his gaze to see that pretty face. "There are… complications."

"You're married?"

Sephiroth let a little chuckle past his lips and he finally regarded Genesis once more. The expression on that rounded face was… a little unreadable. Between panic and confusion and that downright determination to get what he wanted that Lazard had warned him about. "I'm not married… it's just…" He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, laying his head back against the chair.

Though he didn't want to spill his innermost emotions to what was still something of a complete stranger, Sephiroth also knew it was the only way to quieten the redhead, and perhaps slake some of that need for answers. "It's just, I don't want to commit myself to someone who… won't reciprocate that commitment."

"You're too dominant and possessive, right. Tell me something that I didn't already know." Genesis knocked away the honesty like a fly with the back of his hand. Totally blasé, he took another sip from his glass. And strangely, Sephiroth found his temper was still bobbing happily, not at all ignited by the redhead's reaction. "That still doesn't stop you from fucking me though."

Growling, Sephiroth leant forwards and placed his glass none-too-gently on the table. "I'm looking for more than just sex in you, Genesis."

He saw the absolute stunned expression that washed across that face. Lips fastened back together a moment later and Genesis swallowed the slip in his façade. "I'm not sure I could give up the Cirque, even for that promise."

Sephiroth sighed and rested back in the chair. "Then there's nothing that can be done."

"Would it help if I told you that my father was a politician?"

"Why would that change anything?"

"Because you can get to know me, and hopefully see that my occupation – believe it or not – is only skin deep. I can stay at the Cirque, but I can still be _yours_, if you willed it." It was Genesis' turn to lean that little bit closer, eyes boring deep into jade.

Shaking his head, Sephiroth closed his eyes. "As you said, I'm too 'dominant and possessive' for that to work."

Genesis huffed and threw himself back into the sofa. "Your loss, I suppose." A single long finger rimmed the glass, letting out that high-pitched ring so easily that many others strived to create.

Silence fell for a few minutes. Genesis dropped his act and just sat stationary in the chair, eyes focused on nothing but that near-empty glass. Sephiroth couldn't help but feel apologetic for breaking the redhead's spirit; effectively taking everything that he found attractive away from that man because of his own needs. He bit the bullet and pushed himself up from his chair and settled down besides Genesis.

"So, he was a politician? How did you end up where you are then?"

"Boredom," Genesis said simply, and relatively curtly. "He wanted me to continue the family tradition, but I refused. I have no desire to play mayor to some tiny country town." He finished his glass without any sign of enjoyment of its complex undertones. Immediately, Sephiroth offered to refill it and was accepted.

"There are plenty of other occupations you could do, instead of selling yourself--"

"I'm an exhibitionist in the purest sense of the word, Sephiroth. Can you really imagine me working in an office?" Genesis laughed in a painfully self-depreciating way.

"You don't have to work in an office, or for anyone. I could imagine you being quite a popular stylist."

The redhead laughed and shifted to look at his companion for the night. "And you? Why are you an interior designer and not caged up in an office block?"

Sephiroth rested his back against the armrest, slinging his arm holding the wineglass over his knee. "Because I can't bear the thought of being cooped like that. And having to work with other people to some meaningless 'greater' goal."

Genesis laughed. His eyes sparkled in the artificial light, all white teeth and utterly genuine. It was so very rare – if ever – that Sephiroth could make anyone laugh as such. It struck a chord in his heart, and he laid a hand on Genesis' knee. The mirth was silenced at once.

"Why won't you leave the Cirque?"

"They're my family," the redhead replied simply. "Lazard took me in when no one else would. He practically raised me and taught me everything I know." That voice was breaking from what sounded suspiciously like emotional pressure. At least that was mutual.

Sephiroth raised his right hand and cupped it around the other's cheek, finding it a little cooler than he expected, but still as smooth as he remembered all the other flesh he had touched. "There comes a time when everyone has to move away from their family," he offered gingerly with a small, sympathetic smile.

Genesis turned into that hand, leaving his glass on the table. "You're asking me to give up everything I know for a man who has been nothing but hostile to me, and that I know nothing of."

"But you know _why _I was off, Genesis. And you know my name, address and occupation. And where I shop and what I like to eat and drink. That's a start."

Again, Genesis laughed and Sephiroth let his face brighten. "I've never had someone pursue me so, it's very flattering."

"You're beautiful enough to deserve it," Sephiroth muttered before he had thought of the repercussions. But he stilled himself and allowed the kiss he knew was coming.

Genesis' lips were as soft and plush as they looked, cool and tasting of wine and that apple gloss. Two slender hands worked their way into his hair, pulling at it to bring himself closer, and Sephiroth instinctually gripped at and shifted Genesis into his lap, groaning from the teasing sensation of the redhead's tongue lapping insistently at his bottom lip, like a feline determined to get inside.

He wasn't reluctant in opening, however. He found himself sucked into the other's mouth. An explosion of taste whipped his senses and Genesis loosened his hands to explore Sephiroth's muscular form in a shamelessly libertine fashion. The only thing keeping Genesis' hips stationary was Sephiroth's hands holding them, whilst his thumbs brushed little circles in the dips of the muscles.

He broke the kiss as expert hands thumbed at his nipples through his shirt, knowing all too well where this was heading. Somewhere he wanted and needed… but simply could not allow himself. More than his needs of fidelity, but, that same self-preservation nagged at the back of his head, screaming not to let his guard down around this pretty creature.

Genesis frowned, abandoning Sephiroth's mouth for his neck, practically ravishing the warm, milky flesh with his lips and fiery fervour. "Leave the disagreements until tomorrow."

He groaned, more in frustration than arousal. Mind torn into two defined sides and raging, at war. Hormones and reason were the weapons, both driven by a want for the same goal – this unique man all for himself.

But Genesis' words had meaning. They could relieve themselves now, and leave their differences and disagreements until the morning when desire wasn't clouding their senses and judgement.

"Just one fuck, Sephiroth."

Those words raked through the man's mind, stiffening his entire body.

Just how many people had heard Genesis say that? How many had paid for that 'one fuck'? And how many would continue paying? The redhead immediately noticed the lack of motion – and positive emotion – and stopped and pulled back to enquire.

Sephiroth shook his head and pushed the other back down to the side. "I gave you my terms, Genesis. Please respect them." Green eyes returned back to the wall light on the other side of the room, knowing that the look in blue would either be deeply offended and hurt, or utterly furious.

It was most likely the latter as Genesis released a growl of a sigh and pushed himself up and out of the sofa. Storming over to the door he slung on his coat, pulling the door open. "Lazard wants to see you at the Cirque on Monday. Morning, nine o'clock."

And by the time he had turned to the doorway, not even knowing what words to use or even what choice he had made, Genesis was gone.


	5. Curiosity

**Curiosity**

It was with a certain amount of fear that Sephiroth looked at the external shell of the Cirque now. Though that initial loathing still nibbled away beneath the surface, trepidation filled the gaps left. The same building, waiting and eager for him to work his magic; people unchanged, but through the past roughly week-long period he had all but estranged himself from all of them. As the redheaded dancer had said, the Cirque was like a family, so he could hardly single himself out: it would make work so much harder. It also didn't help that he had perhaps destroyed a budding chance of a relationship with the pride of the establishment.

The whole weekend he had been left with nothing to contemplate but that loss; of Genesis. His very taste had all but completely consumed Sephiroth's imagination. Every time he closed his eyes, or let himself drift from reality, it played upon his tongue. He ached to feel those slim hips in his hands again. The way his fingers could curl into the back of the pelvic bone was certainly something simple but infinitely agreeable. Sephiroth sighed away the yearning of his subconscious. He was accustomed to its wiles now. They were things encouraged only by hormones, calling for him to abandon his emotional needs and just focus on the physical. The former was a concern that could come a little later.

What would Genesis say to him upon seeing him again? Would he still be angry, or would he try to weasel his way back into Sephiroth's trousers, knowing that the man's resolve was weak to his beauty and very nature? Of course, one of the main concerns that haunted Sephiroth's mind was whether the dancer had grown bored of the insults and games and chosen to pursue someone who would actually give the gratification that such pretty creatures as he craved.

Just as the first time he had knocked on the main door to the Cirque, the same gruff man opened up and let him in, this time without the inquisitional snap for name and purpose. He was guided back to the same black sofa as before. The room around him was empty: the tall doorman vanished into thin air. It still felt crowded, oppressive. Must have been the gloomy decoration.

Glancing at his watch, Sephiroth was relieved to see that he was just less than five minutes early to the time that Genesis had given him that fateful Friday and the blonde manager had confirmed the following morning over telephone, as if he did not trust the redhead to deliver a simple message.

But it was not until the very second that the thinnest of the hands on the clock touched twelve that Lazard strolled in. This time, no youthful dancers tottered alongside. "Good morning," he smiled.

"Good morning, Mr. Deusericus." Sephiroth immediately stood and held out his hand. But the blonde chuckled and shook his head.

"I think we're past the formalities now, don't you?" he said but didn't leave any time for a response as he moved to perch on the edge of the stage in front of the other. "Do you want a drink?"

Sephiroth nodded out of politeness and what felt like seconds later, the doorman was back with a plain glass of water – far from the beautiful shapes that Sephiroth had seen Lazard and the others drinking from when here.

"How have you been getting along then?"

The tone was certainly more conversational than Sephiroth had experienced with previous clients, giving rise to the thought that work was not all that Lazard was asking about. It was highly possible, considering the closeness of everyone who worked here, that Genesis had spoken to him about the previously. Nevertheless, he continued onwards, by now well aware of the quirks of this place.

"Good - I've drawn up a few proposals, if you want to see them?" He motioned down to the black portfolio case besides him on the sofa that he had brought with him.

"Ahh, fantastic." Lazard reached out to take it when it was offered. Unzipping it, he took out a few sheets of the paper it held and scanned them before he blinked and raised his head. "You're proposing that we completely change the shape of this room?"

"Yes," he replied frankly. "I thought, as you suggested, the best idea would be to present the Cirque in its plainest form in this room – hence the entire circular layout, and _then_ explore the different facets in each of the other rooms."

Lazard hummed to show he was listening as he continued reading.

"I was also wondering whether each of the specialist dancers would be given their own rooms? It would make designing that much easier, if I could know each individual style to cater for—"

"Yes, and," another glance over the drawings through glasses, "that seems like a perfectly reasonable request, though, may I say, a little bold for someone like you."

Frowning, Sephiroth took a mouthful of the water, looking at the blonde as expectantly as if he was demanding an explanation.

"I remember you saying that you 'didn't want to get close to a stripper'."

"That was a different context, Mr. Deusericus."

"On the contrary, Mr. Crescent, surely it takes a certain measure of intimacy to gain a true awareness of each dancer's presentation—"

"—which doesn't mean what _I_ was talking about."

A thin smile cracked Lazard's face. He held out his right hand, and another dancer appeared from the red-tainted darkness, a slim blonde boy, and handed the man one of his dainty black liquid-filled flutes. "Reserving yourself for… a certain man?" he handed back the papers and the portfolio.

Sephiroth made a sharp choking sound, dismissive, as he packed everything away back in the plastic folder. "If that will be all for today? I can arrange a starting date for the contractors and contact you for affirmation." Standing, he glanced at the other man, who had turned his attention to the boy that lingered. Green eyes rolled as he made for the exit.

"You owe me, Mr. Crescent."

Sephiroth turned back to the blonde. The usual slick smile had completely vanished; grey eyes invisible behind the light reflecting on his glasses. "Excuse me?"

Lazard sneered, leaving the boy to slink off and paced between the tables, white-gloved fingers skimming the surfaces soundlessly. "Genesis. I don't know what you did but he feels contempt towards what he is, and all of us. His heart is no longer in his dancing. Tell me, how can the Cirque function when its centrepiece is _flawed_?"

Whereas the words would have once had the high possibility of pleasing Sephiroth; perhaps hinting that soon Genesis would drop from the Cirque altogether to come to him, a thick weight of guilt settled on his shoulders. He couldn't imagine Genesis without his spirit and the confidence in himself, his attractiveness and sexuality that made him so potent, as consuming as the richest, darkest of all vintage cabernet wines. Instead of feeling a joy that he had opened the door to a relationship with the dancer, Sephiroth lamented the fact that it appeared that he had _ruined_ Genesis.

Hearing Lazard inhale to speak again, the silver haired man turned on his heel, as unwilling to suffer more cold words as he was eager to assess the damage for himself. After studying the schematics he had drawn up of the Cirque's floor plan for so long, he could quickly navigate the corridors out back, lined with dark haunts and dressing rooms, to Genesis' own. But it was empty and the flowers in the vases drooped, dying, if not already dead.

Some of the make-shift screening on the window had been ripped off, and left scattered on the floor, creating more thick bands of light in the musty air. Stepping closer, Sephiroth inspected the mess before stooping to pick it up. He had seen a bin under the dressing table, filled with brown glass bottles and cosmetic accessories, and dumped the refuse newspaper and crumbling chipboard in there. There was a lot of high-factor sun lotion on the table amongst the eyeliner and assorted colours that Genesis had once worn on stage to make himself a touch closer to feminine.

After sharing dinner with the redhead three nights previously, Sephiroth had begun to see just how different to his act, and the persona he chose to adopt on stage, the dancer really was. A flash of pleasure swept the man's thoughts, noting how out of all the men who would happily pay to enjoy the redhead's company, only he could say that he had been with the real Genesis Rhapsodos.

As the sun was covered by a thick cloud, the room grew grey.

"Good morning, Mr. Crescent."

Sephiroth snapped his head in the direction of the sound – the door – though he had immediately recognised that it was not the voice that he had wanted to hear. Too feeble, too shallow and faux-sultry. With Genesis, such a quality ran deep in his being; the way he could say anything could make a man bite his lip if he was of half a mind to make them want him.

The boy leaning against the door had mid-length platinum hair, looking just old enough to be legal, not a performer of adult entertainment, and had a pretty face that Sephiroth could roughly place to a routine he had seen on his first night at the Cirque, with two other young dancers, another silver-haired boy and a blonde. He wore tight black that left little to the imagination.

"Good morning…"

"Kadaj," the boy smiled. He pushed himself away from the doorframe and sauntered closer. "Genesis went out, said he had something important to do. Knowing him, he won't be back until the evening. Perhaps I could keep you company until he breezes back in?"

"I'm fine, thank you." Sephiroth stiffened as Kadaj invaded his space. Two fingers settled lightly on his chest, above his heart. "I have to speak to Mr. Deusericus."

"He doesn't want to speak to you," the other all but snapped, shoving his hand forward to push Sephiroth back, towards the sofa where he and Genesis had almost kissed for the first time. "He's busy now."

Though the rabbit and the wolf panic bubbled back up inside, it was also just plain disinterest in this… teen that fuelled Sephiroth's senses into shooing this creature away, or simply walking out himself. However, his muscles were not responding. When his knees hit the sofa, upon reflex he toppled down onto it, Kadaj quickly settling down into his lap, smirking.

"That wasn't so hard now, was it?"

The boy gripped at Sephiroth's wrists to manually position his hands on a touch too skinny hips that curved like a girl's. As much as he wanted to pull away, again, he was stuck: Kadaj's grasp was tighter than he expected.

"I can't see what Genesis is so worked up about. You're as skitty as a virgin!" The teen laughed, then stopped. Green eyes narrowed into sharp crescents and he leaned down to Sephiroth's ear. "Are you a virgin, sir?"

The elder male grunted; cringing as Kadaj sucked on his earlobe. Disgust ran like syrup through him, taking what could have been in this setting, with another dancer, far from pleasure.

Cold lips pressed flightily down his neck, focusing in one sharp line; harder against the flutter of a racing pulse. He felt those lips part, draw back and inch and then a moment's pause… before Kadaj jumped away like something had burned or bitten him. Jade eyes glaring at nothing, his mouth was shut and scowling. He spun around quickly and stalked out of the door, hissing so lowly Sephiroth barely picked up the word 'bastard'.

And then, only when the boy was out of sight and hearing distance, did Sephiroth gain control against over his greater movement. He sensed that there was some truth in what Kadaj had said – about Genesis going out – as he had not seen the redhead lurking around the Cirque; and that Lazard did not want to see him again. Business men, no matter how debauched their empires be, were not fond of having the profits taken from them, and then being walked away from. So Sephiroth gathered himself back together, wiping the saliva from his ear with a tissue from Genesis' table, and left to return home.

A quiet evening in was what Sephiroth was planning. Sat on the sofa with long legs propped up on the corner of the coffee table, he switched from channel to various channel without any true interest. He felt incomplete, like he had left a part of him self at the Cirque when he had left, and sickened by the platinum teen's vulgar advances. Reliving the sensations of breath against his neck, Sephiroth had been unable to quell the sickly bubbling in his stomach since that moment. Unable to eat something heavy, all he had had was a little plastic bowl of mixed leaf salad.

A documentary had recently started and it seemed as good as anything else could be. It was basically just moving background noise anyway. Exploring common folklore, its magical creatures and their origins; then discussing and entertaining thoughts of such beasts being real in the contemporary world. All very farfetched but amusing nonetheless.

Not half an hour in, there was a knock at the door. He either took longer than he expected to get up, or whoever it was on the other side was incredibly impatient. A few unpleasant remarks stirred up in Sephiroth's head as he reached for the handle, but all were whisked away when bright auburn hair tilted back to reveal those pretty crystal eyes.

"Genesis," he breathed and immediately stood back.

The redhead stepped in silently, but thankfully, and let the other relieve him of his heavy coat. Absentmindedly, Sephiroth noted that he was perhaps just using it as an excuse to touch that body, as on show as always through the fit of his outfit, but was too dazed by the company to care. And Genesis didn't comment on it, which was surprising.

He did, however, turn back and hold out a black folder. "You left this in my room."

Taking it, Sephiroth left it on nearby shelf. "Thank you. Do you want a drink or something?"

"A drink, if you would." Genesis nodded and settled down on the sofa.

"Tea? Coffee? Wine?"

"Water will be fine."

Casting another glance to the dancer on the sofa, Sephiroth went to the kitchen. There was certainly a new amount of tension hanging in the air, more than there ever had been before. This was almost entirely _not_ sexual.

"As _if,_" he heard Genesis scoff and snapped his head up to find the other watching what was playing on the TV. Eyes leaked pure cynicism. Sephiroth walked back into the main part of the room, offering the other one of the two glasses he held.

"Interested in vampires, hmm?" the redhead said curiously, taking it.

"Not especially. It was just on."

A little smile graced Genesis' features as he sipped at the drink. He reached over to the other side of the sofa to get the remote and turn the TV off. The way he pressed the button with a single finger was almost as dismissive as a connoisseur glances at a cheap forgery of their craft. There were a few minutes of silence; Sephiroth lowered himself into the armchair again, staring across the room.

"Thank you for clearing the mess in my room. I wouldn't have done it myself." Genesis looked up and saw Sephiroth's frown. "I was… in a mood."

"Lazard told me that you—"

"Lazard knows nothing. To him there are only two kinds of people. A habit picked up from his darling brother. And in his world, I'm fraternising with the enemy."

"And I'm 'the enemy'?"

"To him, and those who follow him like dogs," Genesis spat. The blue of his eyes was on fire. It was a lot easier to believe of the resentment that Lazard had spoken of earlier that day when it was right before him. "I'm lucky enough to be an outsider. I don't want that man in my head."

"So the centrepiece is the odd one out?" Sephiroth mused aloud. He settled back in the chair. A smirk twitched at his mouth, though he refused to let it form. Such bitterness towards the boss would soon lead to a resignation, surely. Then he only had to make sure that the redhead would not seek employment in another establishment of the same nature.

Genesis barked a laugh. "I _earned_ my position in the Cirque – and not how you're thinking. There are many there that itch to oust me."

"I can believe that," muttered Sephiroth. "When you were gone, one of the other dancers… Kadaj? tried to—"

"I know. When I got back, I could smell that he had been in my room. He wouldn't dare enter there unless he was playing with something of mine."

Green eyes furrowed deeply at the words; at the haughty assumption of possession; at the venom of that tone. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but it was strange. And uncomfortable.

Genesis glanced at him, laughing quietly to himself and shaking his head. "I'm sorry. You just… I've never been… refused before, Sephiroth. It's done something rather quite strange to my head."

That laughter was something Sephiroth mirrored as he placed his own glass back on the table. "I know what that one feels like." Though he didn't extrapolate like he felt the other would want him to. Some habits die hard, or just refused to be routed.

"A shame, isn't it?" the redhead said, turning back to Sephiroth with all seriousness like he was referring to the death of a young talent. In a way, the relationship that was trying to bloom between probably could have been described as something like that, rare and special. The expression was something he had only seen a few days ago; naturally stunning on that face, as painted as it was. "You're losing your enigmatic hostility and I'm teetering very close to… normal behaviour, albeit for a teenage girl."

Then Sephiroth laughed genuinely amused. "You could never be normal, Genesis."

"Is this just going to be a repeat of Friday? You compliment me, I kiss you and you throw me out?"

"I didn't throw you out, Genesis. You left."

Genesis sighed. "You set reasonable terms, although I cannot meet them, and I did not want to force you into breaking them."

Scepticism could not be shirked from his mind, and obviously from his jade eyes as the other carried on.

"Believe me, Sephiroth, if I was of half a mind, your bed sheets would be a far cry from their crystal white."

"Then why don't you?" Did he betray a hint of eagerness?

"Because," Genesis started drawing rings around the rim of the glass again. "For some reason I respect you and your wishes. The promise that you gav—" He closed his eyes and lowered his head, sighing to take a new direction. "You have needs, Sephiroth. They're ones I hope I can conform to someday soon."

That struck a note in the silver-haired man's heart. So simple, it really did present Genesis as a human, not some ethereal being to be gawked and groped and fantasised about. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Sephiroth spoke again. "What Lazard said, is it solely because of me?"

"Mitigating circumstances," the redhead murmured. He reopened his eyes but kept them focused on the water that rippled against its clear confines. "Thoughts dug back up by you."

From the reserved nature of his voice, Sephiroth immediately understood the undertones – _I don't want to talk about it_ – and didn't press the redhead further. It was obvious that he was uncomfortable enough as it was. Genesis had other ways of expressing himself and his reactions to the world around him and perhaps was not so accustomed to spilling himself through words that everyone could understand clearly, instead of making their own interpretations of what he was trying to convey, and thus clearing some of that mist that clouded his true character.

Sephiroth took a breath to speak again, but was silenced before any comprehensible sound could pass his lips by Genesis standing up.

"I should get going. I don't want to irritate Lazard any more than I already have." The glass of water was placed gently down on the table before the redhead paced over to the coat hooks by the front door.

Immediately, Sephiroth jumped up and nigh-on ran to the door, fearing that Genesis would leave with the speed he usually vanished with. He grabbed the man's wrist as it went for the handle. "Why so soon?"

With the hint of a smile, Genesis turned and gently pulled his hand free. "It's quite late, no?"

A glance of a watch revealed that it was indeed. Either he'd spent much longer than anticipated aimlessly searching through the channels or time really did fly in good company. Sighing, Sephiroth looked back up. From the new close distance, eyes would've been staring into each other if only he could meet that sky-blue gaze. Sephiroth saw, as he scanned the rest of that face, just how pale it was. Skin looked thin over the sharp curves of his cheekbones; it had a slight sheen in the white light.

"Are you okay?" he asked with all concern not hidden from his voice. Left hand raised to press against Genesis' forehead, under that floppy red fringe but found he was running no abnormally high temperature. Abnormally _low_, perhaps. As soon as he made the contact, the other shrugged him off.

"I'm fine," he waved dismissively. "I just haven't been… eating these last few days."

Sephiroth frowned. "Because of me?"

"Didn't take my fancy."

He could imagine the redhead being so pernickety with what he ate. After all, one did not get a figure like his through consuming everything and anything that crossed their path. Still, the way he shrugged off the question was curious, like a teenager with concerned parents: was he lying to get attention?

"Genesis," Sephiroth chided with a tiny smile playing at the corner of his lips. The hand that had been rejected instead rested lightly at the curve of neck and shoulder, over soft scarlet fabric. "Do you want something here? There's plenty of things in the fridge or—"

"I'm fine. Really. I'll get something back at the Cirque. I just… don't want to annoy Lazard."

Sighing, the silver haired man nodded but did not move. He did not feel compelled to let Genesis go just yet, or ever. Presumably so close to leaving his job, perhaps all it would take was a little distance; a little taste of the outside world, that Genesis had never had the chance to see from the sounds of it, to pass that final hurdle.

Genesis' hands settled on his chest, pressing hard enough to be felt, his nails slightly sharp even through Sephiroth's shirt. "Thank you, Sephiroth."

"It's no problem."

Within the second of glossed lips curving upwards, Sephiroth had his hand pressed against the door besides Genesis' head as the other tentatively moulded to the sharp angles of a hip. Although it wasn't the first time he had kissed the redhead, it was the first time he had done so consciously or personally initiated. The situation called for it; he felt Genesis needed all the little pushes he could get and Sephiroth just hoped he could keep his hormones in check. Jade eyes slid shut as he leant forwards to make contact.

And Genesis was surprisingly conservative in his actions. His lips remained closed, sticky to the touch, and his fingers only curled slightly to pull the other closer. A complete antithesis to their last experience. It felt probable to remain a chaste touch if Sephiroth hadn't opened his mouth to taste fruit flavoured gloss. A relief to finally sate that one craving.

Only after this did the dancer become something that Sephiroth recognised. A simple slow kiss became a frenzy, hands sliding through hair and up shirts mutually. He wasn't even aware how hard he was pushing Genesis into the door until he heard a quiet moan of discomfort and immediately withdrew an inch or two. It didn't create a distance between them.

When Sephiroth moved from those now bare lips, Genesis' head fell back against the door, the red of his hair a pretty contrast to the white paint; highlighting the pale flesh of his neck, which was his new target.

The noises produced were delightful, and did wonders for Sephiroth's body – in assuring that the apposition of his reason and previous motive for the very kiss alone was all but a lost cause. Such delicate whimpers, like Genesis had never been touched in this way before, got closer to his ear as that vocal mouth neared it. Cool breath washed down his own neck, making stray strands of his silver hair, pulled forwards moments before, to tickle and send shivers down his spine. And lips, so soft and cool and electric…

Then the utterances changed completely in nature. Sharply toned, Sephiroth was rewarded with a comprehensible voice instead. "I have to go." Genesis pushed him away and shrugged his coat on in stiff movements.

"Genesis—"

"I'll see you later."

The door was shut and heeled footsteps faded to silence on the other side before Sephiroth could even collect himself to put up a stronger protest. More than the speed of the escape or even the bewilderment at a change in mood like no other he had even heard of, it was a dazed contentment that blanketed Sephiroth's mind and he actually turned back to the TV smiling.


	6. Admittance

And thus the plot thickens...

**Admittance**

"Sephiroth, I'm glad you could come," Genesis said with a smile, turning to him as he approached. The redhead was sat at the sleek glass table that reflected the sunlight not repelled by a black parasol decorated only by the white logo of the coffee bar. He sat as much in its shadows as possible. Being so pale, he either was easily burnt or didn't want to tan. Remembering all the high-factor sun cream on his desk, it easily could've been one of the two.

"How could I refuse?" Sephiroth replied and slid into the metal chair opposite. "I must say, I wasn't expecting the invitation. It's been a few days…"

"Yes, sorry. I just… needed some time to think."

A ghost of a smirk dashed across Sephiroth's features, though Genesis didn't see it. Thinking about his current decision and the choice to be made? Green eyes watched the redhead; his fidgeting fingers, twisting around each other, and the jarring movements of his crossed legs as if he was kicking his shin with his heel. He remained silent.

"Latte and double espresso?" A lanky redhead arrived holding a tray in one hand and a little notepad in the other. As Genesis pointed to Sephiroth and himself respectively, the waiter settled both cups down without spilling a drop or making anything more than a little clink as glass met glass. He vanished as quickly as he had appeared.

"How did you know I liked latte? Am I that—"

"Your apartment, it smells very strongly of it," the dancer replied.

Sephiroth frowned, bewildered, and watched as Genesis took a sip of his coffee. He had never liked such a strong, corrosive drink, not seeing the point of it – too strong to be enjoyed – and was surprised to see how the other was not overpowered by its aroma, as sensitive as he seemed to be. "You've got a very talented nose, haven't you?"

Shrugging, Genesis simply remained silent. So Sephiroth tried another approach to conversation, not that he had any extensive experience in the field of interaction.

"You're looking better. Been eating?"

Genesis glanced up sharply, blue eyes clouded, darkened by the lack of light, before returning down to his hands. "Yes, the desperate middle-aged film actress look wasn't too appealing."

Sephiroth scoffed. "You weren't _that_ bad."

"I looked bad enough to raise your concern."

"It wouldn't take much, Genesis."

Sighing, Genesis sat up straight, palms splayed flat against his thighs in an effort to keep them still. "I wanted to apologise for my behaviour. I was awfully rude the other day and I just wanted to make sure that I didn't offend you."

"Not at all," Sephiroth smiled and took another mouthful of his drink. Genesis had nearly finished his, expression still lacking the life; the smirk that shone with confidence. "I know what it's like living with opinionated, demanding people."

"Your family?"

"My father." Sighing, Sephiroth leant back in the chair, stirring his coffee absentmindedly. "He and my mother were… well, you already know, I suppose."

"Yes."

"Is _that_ something you deduced from scent?"

Suddenly, Genesis turned away, deflated. It hadn't meant to come out how he said it, more mocking than trying to break the ice. The redhead looked genuinely hurt. So much so, Sephiroth wasn't as surprised as he might have been when the other slid his chair back and stood up.

"It was nice seeing you again, Sephiroth," he said and straightened out his scarlet coat, stepping out from under the large parasol.

A little more accustomed to Genesis' speed now, Sephiroth wasted no time in jumping up after him; briskly tracing his footsteps until he had caught up. He grabbed the redhead's hand and pulled him to a stop. Now there were sunglasses shielding those crystal eyes.

"I didn't mean to sound rude, Genesis. I just…" He sighed. "You're acting so strangely, I don't know what to do."

The redhead groaned quietly, and took a hold of the hand that held his, raising it to chest height. "There are a few things you can do for me, Sephiroth." The words were forced from those pretty lips, definitely uncertain. "First: trust me. Second: take us somewhere private, and thirdly: don't interrupt me. I won't be able to start again."

Genesis hadn't spoken all the way home. He just walked along a pace or two behind, and had Sephiroth had turned around, blue eyes would probably have been fastened onto the pavement below his feet. Such strange behaviour, almost fearful. For a man so in tune with himself, as well as the world around him (Sephiroth had never known anyone so shrewd in his observations of people and surroundings), it was unsettling.

He still didn't say anything as he settled down into the sofa. Sephiroth watched him for a moment or two and when there was no movement, he went to the kitchen and got two glasses of water. He walked back to the furniture and handed the redhead the glass. Instead of going to the armchair as he usually did with this guest, he stayed and sat next to him.

The angle of the hands of the clock had widened quite drastically by the time Genesis finally inhaled to take a breath. He had barely touched his water, unlike the other, whose glass was almost empty through a lack of nothing to do but wait more than actual thirst. It would seem far too rude to just stand up and get something whilst the redhead collected himself. Something told Sephiroth that if he did, by the time he got back to the room, Genesis would be gone.

"… It isn't easy to talk about this, especially after the first time.

"I haven't been completely honest with you, Sephiroth. None of us have," he said bluntly, hands clasped on his lap; back straight against the sofa. "I told you that my father was a politician? A mayor?"

Sephiroth nodded without words as Genesis turned to him. His eyes seemed a lot darker now than they had outside.

"He was mayor of this town… almost two hundred years ago."

Taking the last mouthful of water in the glass, Sephiroth nearly choked. "Excuse me?"

A lamenting smile ghosted across the redhead's features and he raised a hand to brush his fringe out of his eyes. "The beautiful undead, Sephiroth. A vampire."

"That's not possible, Genesis. Stop playing with me."

"Not _probable_, but entirely _possible_. Entirely _true_."

Had Genesis gone completely mad? He had always seemed a little aloof, eccentric, detached from the world but this… this was just him on a new planet altogether. Sephiroth didn't see the need for the game, or whatever the redhead was playing at. Perhaps he _believed_ it was real: his beauty and thirst for fine literature had deluded him or being surrounded by such strange characters as Lazard and those young dancers had twisted his mind into adopting an extravagant story.

Yes, this was all part of Genesis' character, the one he put out for those watching on the stage. A strange, enigmatic man; so sensual, so ethereal Sephiroth could believe that there was something not quite human bathed in the spotlight. But not _Genesis_.

It just wasn't possible.

Closing his eyes, Sephiroth turned away. "Why are you playing, Genesis? I thought we had grown past those games."

The redhead muttered something that sounded remarkably like a distraught "Again?" but soon those blue eyes were back on him. They were so expressive, so honest. How could a rational, intelligent man believe this? "I wouldn't joke about something as serious as this." came the whisper.

It assured Sephiroth that this wasn't a game or joke, for, something as fiery as the redhead could not be so… quiet, introverted in any manner. The insecurity before him made him sigh and tap his fingers on the arm of the sofa. "It's just not possible, Genesis. I'm sorry, but, whatever you feel – it's just not true."

Genesis made a sound suspiciously like a growl and was on his feet in the blink of an eye. He yanked Sephiroth up as well, so easily like a child grabs its favourite doll. "If you want proof then _fine_." Dragging them both to the window, where the sunlight of the late morning beat down on the white near-translucent curtains.

Blue eyes were almost glaring at him, as riddled with annoyance as they were fear. Lips moved but it took Sephiroth a few seconds to hear them. He was studying that face, that body and found no movement that betrayed breath. "A vampire cannot survive in the sunlight. Do you know why?"

"They burn?" Sephiroth replied sharply. He stood back and stared like a student watches a demonstration of an experiment.

"They burn." Genesis confirmed with a lopsided, bitter smile. Slowly, he paced forwards and pulled the curtain apart enough to cast a bar of pure light into the room. Light that he put his right hand into without a word, only a grimace.

For a little while, nothing happened. Sephiroth was about to sneer, make some comment on the redhead's mental health, and how he knew a doctor who might be able to help, when he noticed the skin on that pale hand begin to brown, crack and boil. A glimpse up at Genesis' face exposed the pain it caused. He grabbed the wrist to pull it out of the light. Disbelief awash on his features, tongue dry all he could do was stare.

It was… true?

Moments later, he pulled Genesis' hand closer to his face, still in the shadows. That wound – the burn – had all but vanished. Now only a slight hint of brown, dried flesh ruined the perfect expanse. And when Genesis flexed out his fingers, perhaps to disperse feeling, it was as if nothing had ever happened.

"A vampire?" The word slipped from his mouth in wonder. He let go of Genesis, and took a step back before he noticed and controlled the reflex.

Closing his eyes, Genesis returned to the sofa and curled in on himself.

Sephiroth slowly came closer again, regaining his place. He would've preferred to go to his chair, but, he had driven Genesis to mutilate himself, albeit transitorily, but it was no doubt humiliating. If anything, Sephiroth owed an apology, some understanding and trust to the man who obviously viewed him as something special enough to share this information with.

As if sensing this, Genesis' lips quirked upwards and his head rose again; a little confidence inflating his stance, voice and character. "It's a gift or a curse, depending on how you look at it."

"How do _you_ look at it?"

But the other just smiled again, in that same self-depreciating fashion. Again his fingers twisted around each other and had he not have been gearing up for speech, he would have been chewing those too-petal pink lush lips.

"A gift." Lips sharpened into a smirk, far more familiar and fitting with the Genesis he knew at the very beginning, before the sexual tension grew deeper, darker than the ocean in the new moon. "This face, everything about me will never age. I can float through the world and absorb everything it has to offer me, and people can do nothing but admire me." Only when Sephiroth blinked did he notice that Genesis was indeed admiring himself, palm framing his jaw. His expression was befitting a model in the middle of a photoshoot for a glossy glamour magazine. Then that dainty hand fell back to his lap, jade eyes followed it as a distraction from the beauty that finally made sense. Everything did…

"It does not come without sacrifices. The Cirque relocates around the country to avoid suspicion every decade or so. I never get the chance to love. But when I do, it's the greatest price to pay for immortality. How could I love a lesser species? The _prey_?"

Frowning, Sephiroth leant a little closer, pushing through all the warnings and barriers that his instincts constructed. The words, Genesis' words and all the previous fleeting thoughts that had passed through the silver-haired man's head since he first entered the building called the Cirque de la Lune. It all fit so neatly together, like a simple jigsaw puzzle, in his mind. A puzzle he'd been too bothered by other things to pay proper attention to. He placed a hand on Genesis' leg, just above the knees and felt no warmth come through the cotton. He couldn't believe that he had missed something so _obvious_ as that there was never any movement from Genesis' chest apart from when he took breath to speak.

"The Cirque exists purely as a means to lull prey into a safe environment for us. There are _safer_ ways, of course, when it comes to society's reactions to such establishments, but this is Lazard's preference and there is little I can do about it." Genesis sighed and laid his hand on Sephiroth's, fingers clasping tighter like he couldn't actually believe that it was real. "I don't think it would be safe for you to go back there now, at least not without me—" It sounded as if Genesis was musing to himself, in tone as well as the fact that his words flew straight over Sephiroth's head.

"Genesis," he said the name quietly, but the man did not look at him. "Genesis," he tried again, and in the end had to cup his free hand around that rounded chin to bring those eyes to his. "Tell me straight. Admit to me what you are."

Was this him finally, completely, undoubtedly believing?

The redhead turned away sharply, eyes cast to the floor. "Then what, Sephiroth? You call me mad? Come to the Cirque despite the warning and I find you the centre of their frenzy? I couldn't take—" His voice broke, a lump formed in his throat that he quickly swallowed away. "This hurts, so very, very much. It's the only time I hate this life, wishing I could just return to what I was; not be separated because I'm a higher species."

"Why must there be a separation?"

"When has a rabbit ever showed anything but fear of the wolf?" He laughed bitterly and paced back to the window. The sun was behind a cloud and that behind the fully drawn curtains again, but there was still enough light to cast a golden glow around that slim figure. "At any moment, Sephiroth, I could lose myself and kill you. I nearly did the other day. That pressure, the constant worry and self-doubt…

"In an attempt to delude myself that I'm human again, I refused to feed. I starved myself so I could be with you. Instead, I put you in grave danger. How many times could that happen again? How many times will you look at me in fear and wonder just when the craving will possess me?" Sephiroth could do little but watch, eyes tracing each dramatic gesticulation; hearing each new pitch the redhead reached.

"Genesis—"

"But I'm selfish, Sephiroth. I'm not going to forget you; I'm not going to stay away simply because I _should_. I did what I had to once, I won't inflict the same wounds on myself again."

Though his mind was a conflict of reason and emotion, Sephiroth felt that he had invested far too much in the other, in effort as well as letting him weave so deeply into his being – there was not a day that Sephiroth went to bed and lamented the fact that it was just one more day spent without a visit – to just let what could be meaningless instincts rule his life. He could refuse to see Genesis, certainly. But that certainly didn't stop Genesis seeing him.

Pushing himself to his feet, he paced over to the silent man and rested his hands on broad shoulders. "It's a _chance_, Genesis. A remote chance. I think people take the same chance when they buy dogs, no?"

The man scoffed. "I think I'm slightly more dangerous than a bad-tempered Chihuahua."

Sephiroth couldn't help but chuckle, pulling Genesis back into his embrace. The other didn't resist; only paced his hands on the forearms around his waist. "Maybe more of an Alsatian, hmm? Anyway, people still keep tigers even when they know the risks."

"People tend to think those people fools. Do you want to be thought of as such?"

"Who would know? Besides, people would think me a fool anyway."

"Hmm?"

"Just one of many enchanted by such a creature – a dancer, more than anything else."

Genesis smiled and pulled Sephiroth's arms tighter around him. "That is pretty foolish, I suppose."

Loosening his grip, Sephiroth spun the other around, finding blue eyes clear again; brighter than the sky that would be visible amongst the cotton-soft clouds. "Will you admit to me now? I just want to be told straight, because right now, you could be one of many things, one of which is an angel."

"No such luck, Sephiroth." The redhead's lips curved upwards. "Instead you find yourself smitten with your natural predator. A vampire. I'm a vampire."

Despite the conversation they had just had, the revelations, decisions and jokes, he still inhaled sharply. Fight or flight? It was hardly a conflict he would win, if the myths of strength and the like were based in fact. Through previous experience with the man, speed was. And to leave would be pointless. A self-sacrifice he wasn't willing to make.

"I accept that. I accept the dangers. I accept _you_."

Just like the first time Sephiroth had admitted his intentions to him, Genesis' eyes went wide, jaw bordering on slack though only parted a little. This time, he didn't cover up such a slip so quickly. Instead, he blinked and embraced the other so tightly it almost squeezed the breath out of him. That was not what he should, as natural impulses told him, be fearful of. He would learn to ignore that voice in time.

"You'll never know just how much that means to me. Truly." Just as quickly as the crushing gesture had come, it was gone.

Sephiroth smiled and cupped a hand around the strong jaw line of the creature before him. No, that was too flippant. Genesis was a person; had been human once, the title could not be denied of him purely because he had what many, many people throughout time had driven themselves insane to receive. Immortality.

There was only one thing niggling that Sephiroth was prepared to address. Something that he wondered still lingered in the redhead's mind. "The Cirque is only a means of sustenance? You don't actually… liaise with patrons? "

"Only when I get bored," Genesis said bluntly. "More often than not, it's purely for feeding purposes."

"Then you have no reason to stay there? You said yourself, you're the outsider. Those others want your job – whatever it be – so let them have it."

Sighing, Genesis rolled his eyes and stepped back to the sofa. "It's more of a obligation than a need to stay there." Sephiroth turned to find Genesis lying on the sofa. Feet dangling over one arm, he toyed with his glass of water with a languid wrist.

"To leave now, Lazard would be furious. Though he has no claim over me, he's of the supercilious breed that believe they own _everything_, and to have a mortal take from them is tantamount to stealing the crown jewels." A bitter twist infected his expression. "The whole 'family' and 'owing him' excuse was a ruse. I hardly imagine the answer 'because Lazard would kill you' would've gone down well, no?"

"He doesn't have a claim to you? Didn't he…?" Sephiroth made a vague gesture with his hand, not quite sure of what actually happened to make people what Genesis was now. It wasn't really something that ever interested him. He had long swapped fairy tales for text books.

Genesis gawked in disgust, shocked at the very _implication_ of the blonde being his sire. "I wouldn't let that man _touch_ me, let alone—ugh, just, no. No, all he did was find me and employ me, give me a safe place to live with my own kind."

"That's why you're the outsider? All the others are Lazard's… creations?"

A smile spread across the other's lips. He laughed sharply. "Creations. Such a fitting word, and yes. I got where I am today out of ruthlessness. I wasn't about to kowtow to them. That's why they resent me. Why should I, the child of another, be in the highest position?"

"The centrepiece?"

Genesis laughed again. "Of the Cirque? Again, a ruse. I suspect 'centrepiece' is slightly more euphonic than 'the baited trap'." He looked and saw Sephiroth's frown as the man walked closer, stopping only to perch on the space that legs left on the arm. "I'm the one that draws the patrons in, enchanting them, as you said. After that, they'd do anything. It's like a drug, I suppose. They just, give themselves so freely to us. It's much easier than if they fought us. The euphoria makes them taste sweeter.

"Which is why I was so surprised when you turned and proclaimed that what you felt for me was more than just lust. Up until then, I was just playing with you, letting you _think _you were in control. That first night, I was fully intent on coming here to feed from you myself, to annoy the others as much as for personal gratification. And then, you took what I hold dearest in my heart and made it your own."

Confused, Sephiroth addressed each point in turn. Genesis' skills of bewitchment were blatant. He had captured the eyes of many that night, Sephiroth included. He had made the mortal obsess over him, and somewhere under that influence, Sephiroth had taken that deadly charm to heart.

"Why would the others be annoyed if you…?"

"Every so often, Lazard gets a little bored and decides to play a game with the locals. Either fortunately or unfortunately, the local he chose was you. As soon as you've finished your job, or outlived your usefulness – say, as soon as production goes underway – they'll have you."

"Oh." A pronounced shiver made its way down his spine. Each vertebrae reacted in rapid succession. He could just imagine what that would be like. Genesis had used the word 'frenzy' before to describe such an action. Would they, like sharks, rip him into pieces, crazed and vicious? "So?"

"So, listen to me very clearly," Genesis said. "Never go to the Cirque on your own. They're as unpredictable as starved dogs. "

Sephiroth nodded.

An age of silence descended between them.

Sighing, Sephiroth gently gripped the redhead's legs to move them to his lap so he could sit down on the sofa. "Genesis, you said that this was the second occasion you've resented your immortality." He noticed the man stiffen out of the corner of his eye. "What was the first?"

"I don't think I'm ready to talk about that yet."

Sephiroth's lips curved upwards a little, nodding softly. "I understand. Take all the time you need, but—" He was going to make a comment on his mortality, but found it would perhaps aggravate and amplify the distance between them, a distance that Genesis hated. That, and following his last attempt at humour over the vampire's extraordinary sense of smell, obviously the redhead didn't like his attributes being mocked. So he left the air dead for a moment or two.

"Genesis?"

Blue eyes flashed up to his over the rim of the glass. The elation within them could not be ignored. Just like how Sephiroth felt to make the man laugh, it warmed him to know that he could make him _happy_. Was there anything more a person could give to another?

"Are you saying, through all of this, that you love me?"

"My, Sephiroth, I do just think that that is true."


	7. Surrender

I hear your 'Chaos! Why are you updating, we don't want this chapter yet! It's far too early!' and I say, IT'S GEORGIE'S BIRTHDAY, and... as I've been too busy doing things to write, everyone can have this instead! Yaaay~

I really didn't expect this chapter to grow so much... lulz

**Surrender**

Genesis had become a regular feature in Sephiroth's life. Visits were no longer periodic and unexpected, but neither were they clockworked to precision. He would come during the day, stay to distract Sephiroth from his projects and then float off back to work. Sometimes he would return afterwards, more or less still in his costume – he spared a moment to slide into some jeans – if it wasn't getting too late.

Over the week that had passed, Sephiroth had been able to pattern the rhythm of the redhead's life. It gave him some insight; some security that a creature so renowned for volatility (like many predators) _could_ be predictable with a little observation. Genesis tended to get shorter in temper, more distant when he was coming close to the end of his 'cycle' (as Sephiroth had coined the euphemism). It was less unsettling to call it that than acknowledging that the man was craving the taste, the life, of another and needed it to survive.

And although any observing eye would say they were close, there were no grounds on which Sephiroth could feel jealous. But he did. His possessive nature resented the fact that Genesis relied on others, and that one thing he needed more than anything else, Sephiroth could not provide.

With a frustrated sigh, Sephiroth slung the book that he had been reading under the cushion on the sofa. The last thing he wanted was for Genesis to find that he had been researching on his species, from a children's book of all things. Even the librarian had given him a strange look when he took it to the desk. With no child with him, it must've raised some interesting questions. But Sephiroth preferred the simplicity of the information that the book presented, not at all overly complicated by contextual information on the cultures from which the myth sprang. He did wonder, however, just how true it all was anyway; because a _myth,_ vampires certainly were not.

A glance at the clock said it was coming up to six. He could hear the low hum of the fan in the oven from the other side of the room and vaguely wondered when his dinner would finish cooking, or at least when Genesis would be likely to show up. It felt strange to eat when Genesis was just sat there. A few times, he had seen envy in those blue eyes. Upon questioning it, the redhead had openly admitted that despite their super-enhanced senses, vampires could not taste food or drink, so Sephiroth had attempted to change his daily routine to prevent upsetting the other. Getting up early, as usual, he would dive straight into his work in order to have some free time to spend with Genesis when he arrived.

Usually, they would go out. Taken anywhere their fancy led them to in the town. Going anywhere near the Cirque was unspoken, forbidden, more than just for reasons of Sephiroth's safety, but because Genesis wanted to distance himself from that place – that life. Perhaps just to make believe he was normal again. Though, Sephiroth occasionally got the feeling that it was something else: something like Genesis wanted to keep who he _was_, and who he was _with Sephiroth,_ different. They were two very different people and, in the space of a week, the time he spent in company of the latter was leaving him thirsting for more.

Knowing that feeling; knowing it well, Sephiroth laid his head back on the sofa and sighed again. This relationship was like a dance. Initially, it had been Genesis making the moves only to be rejected (and it was this rejection that led to Sephiroth still being alive today), but now it was Genesis who was the one to refrain from physical contact, albeit for very different, selfless motives. Sephiroth didn't want to pressure the redhead into anything: it just didn't feel right, like he wasn't respecting the man's wishes. When Genesis had trusted him with an almost self-destructive secret, he owed that much to him.

It just left him in an interesting predicament; not one he was at all accustomed to experiencing. Usually, Sephiroth relieved sexual tension by directness or visiting such places as the Cirque but to do so now would betray more than just Genesis; his own heart. He felt something like no other towards that man, a love he had already admitted, but never proclaimed. If it was really needed. He was the first rabbit to long to lay with the wolf.

A quiet scratching came from the front door. Sephiroth turned just in time to see it swing open and Genesis slide his set of keys back into the pocket of his jeans. Immediately, he was on his feet, walking over to the newcomer and quickly brushing lips to a cold cheek; it was as freezing as the wind outside but would soon warm to room temperature. Sephiroth often wondered if his touch, the heat of his life, burned.

"Evening to you too," Genesis smiled as he unbuttoned his coat. Sephiroth pulled away to take it from broad shoulders and hang it. He had given Genesis his own coat hook, a fact that made a sweet little smile grace that face as he leant forwards to return a gentle kiss as greeting. "How are you this evening?"

"I'm good," Sephiroth replied and strolled back into the room; with one glance checking that the book was concealed behind the pillow on the side he sat on. "Yourself?"

"Great, despite Lazard's little _episode_ this afternoon." Hands in his pockets, Genesis came closer, but leant on the back of the sofa.

"Oh?"

"He still thinks it improper that I see you, despite my… lifted spirits? So, I took the night off, without permission."

"Won't he be—?"

Genesis glanced at him, smirking. "After last night, they can do without me for a little while. Besides, tenth night I've had off in one hundred and eighty years? I think I'm doing _rather_ well."

Smiling, Sephiroth wandered back into the kitchen. Habit dictated that he fetch a glass of water for the redhead, who always drank, though it seemed to have no purpose. "How's work going?"

"Me?" Genesis chuckled. "Always the same, my work. The Cirque, however… the individual rooms are looking good. They've actually finished the first. It's not too bad, but not my taste."

"That's because it's not your room, is it?"

Genesis clasped his hands together. Either intentionally or no, Sephiroth's gaze flashed momentarily to them, white against the black of his trousers; trousers that gripped so tightly around his thighs. He quickly covered up the slip, returning to the sink.

"Yes, but I worry what you've designed for _me_. Why won't you let me see the plans?"

Sephiroth turned around, and found the other now leaning against the other plinth of the kitchen worktop; a hand raised, he inspected his nails nonchalantly.

"Perhaps I want it to be a surprise."

"I'm not a fan of surprises, Sephiroth." He accepted the glass offered to him and took a mouthful. Unlike those few occasions when they had shared a bottle of wine, he didn't grimace – perhaps because there was no taste to water to lament the loss of.

Genesis inhaled deeply, lowering his drink to rest on the worktop at his side. "Hmm, something smells delicious."

"I'm sorry, I didn't cook enough for two," he said, even though cooking for Genesis would just result in wasted food. A courtesy he would give if only he knew it was desired – if he knew it was something that enhanced the man's sense of escapism from himself, he would only be too glad to help. But when he caught a glimpse of the darkly amused twist to Genesis' features, it wasn't escapism that was being sought.

He stepped forwards slowly, boots clacking sharply on the laminate floor to come to a sudden stop only inches away. Sephiroth's heart sped but it was unclear how much was his own reaction and what was inspired by the redhead's… skills. First a slender finger pressed lightly against his collarbone, azure focused there. And then, as the finger drifted downwards, those eyes raised. Sephiroth shuddered into the touch, earning a deeper smirk. "And who said I was talking about the food?"

In another context, he might have been uncomfortable by the covertly threatening words, or pleased that Genesis felt secure enough to tease and play and flood every moment possible with the cocksure confidence that he had exhibited during their first few meetings, if only Sephiroth wasn't so distracted by the man himself. Such sensuality, so heavy on his mind that he all but forgot the dangers – briefly wondering if this was what it felt for their victims lured from the patrons; how they kept them calm, controllable and consenting.

Genesis' smirk softened and he stood back. "You know, that wouldn't happen so easily if you weren't already interested."

Taking a deep breath, and finding it cleared the headiness – though not all of it - Sephiroth shook his head chuckling. "And that comes as a surprise to you?"

"Not at all. But it's fun playing with you."

Sephiroth frowned and took a step back. Sometimes, it was easy to see how dangerous Genesis' species was; how dangerous _he_ was. But then, it wasn't meant in malevolence, the man had made that much clear in that little talk that felt like a lifetime ago now. He was just playing. Playing because he had no experience of spending time with mortals other than when he was feeding from them. Or 'entertaining himself', as he openly termed those other occasions. Shaking his head, Sephiroth offered a little smile forth. It just took some getting used to, that was all.

"You better take whatever it is you're cooking out of the oven, it's just about to burn."

Immediately, he lunged towards the oven, grabbing the mitt in the process. Silently, Genesis wandered back off to the sofa, content with his water.

Minutes later, Sephiroth joined him, dinner on a tray in his hands. He contemplated turning on the TV, but presumed that Genesis would only be too willing to converse with him to fill the void. So far, topics had ranged from literature to the maturing and development of the arts in the country, and little snippets of local history that were too insignificant for the council archives but nonetheless interesting. They were insights into the man's character and attitudes, as well as the culture that moulded him. He spoke as if he was recalling notes from a textbook, or documentary. Living for so long, those early memories were perhaps so distant that they had detached themselves from his conscience, instead forming as a dream that was not completely sure whether it had indeed been dreamed at all.

"Sephiroth," Genesis said, just as he was about to take the first mouthful of food. The redhead shuffled around on the seat to look at him completely. One arm took the heavy plate easily to the table and left it there.

Jade eyes followed the movement in bewilderment, momentarily, before he felt lips pressing to the very corner of his mouth. He turned his head to gain a full contact; left hand briefly skimming through bright auburn hair. He had full control over himself again, showing that this was genuine affection… lust… whatever they had, there certainly wasn't enough of the latter but he would have to confront that problem later on.

"I just wanted to kiss you before you ruined your taste," the redhead murmured as he pulled away – remaining close enough to imply that he wasn't quite finished.

Sephiroth hummed in question, sliding his palm from the back of Genesis' head to his shoulder.

"The food, it takes something so delectable and taints it with _bland_." He surged forwards for another kiss, harder this time, though he stayed on his own side of the sofa. But as quickly and as calmly furious as it came, tongues pillaging but not battling, the kiss was finished.

"Now, you better eat before it gets cold."

Sephiroth wasn't quite sure if he could recall the exact point when Genesis had taken the fork from between his fingers and began to feed him. Teasing with all his skill as if he knew what the other had in mind, and this was his subtle way of invitation.

He wasn't quite sure if he could recall when he had accepted the offer, deserting all thought of food, far preferring the cool spice of the redhead's mouth. How long had it been since Genesis had drawn the other's mouth to his by taking the final morsel of food for himself; how long since Sephiroth had pulled that slim figure closer to his, and then onto his lap?

They had shared kisses like this before, but never this slow; never this deep. Hands ran leisurely through hair and over muscles like they had all the time in the world to spare. Genesis was taking the night off, so there was no rush to enjoy each other before the spotlights began calling his name. So passionate, Sephiroth let go of his inhibitions one by one, growing more adventurous in where he put his hands, which had so far alternated between head and hips. He felt the other smirk against his lips, reading the motives of such changes clearly, and how that body reacted accordingly. As he pressed his palms to Genesis' chest, the man groaned, pushing forwards into the warmth. Then, hands on the small of his back, he shivered and formed a curve that Sephiroth couldn't resist tracing.

Sephiroth tilted his head a little further to the left whilst pulling Genesis closer still; lost in the sensation of smooth fabric and flesh cold to the touch and yet somehow not, he only noticed that Genesis was breaking the kiss when the tongue that he had been so ardently toying with simply vanished.

"Seph, are you—"

Returning his right hand to weave back into the other's hair, Sephiroth allowed a slight curve to form across his lips. "I am, Genesis, if you want to."

With a grin the width of his face, Genesis surged forwards again, assaulting his face in hard but fleeting kisses. Hands pressed him back against the sofa, keeping him still for the moment. "I thought – you'd – never – give in," he said between the brief ministrations.

Soon, Genesis lost interest in the action and returned fully to Sephiroth's mouth; no longer needing to coax those lips open for a kiss that ultimately the mortal was reluctant for. He slid both hands down to Sephiroth's chest as the latter's joined either side of his waist, and in a quick tumble of movement, their positions had changed.

Sephiroth couldn't deny the effect that seeing blue eyes staring up at him from a backdrop of fabric had on his body. Genesis smirked as he felt the result of such a sight twitch against his thigh. He waited silently as Sephiroth caught his breath, letting milky fingertips trace his lips without moving. They were slightly reddened, though not as much as an ordinary person's would have been after such a show of fervour.

"When was the last time you fed?" he asked softly.

"Before I left to come here," Genesis replied, frowning, and shuffled in his position as if trying to get comfortable. He pushed Sephiroth up, keeping his torso suspended with a single hand, leaving enough room to bend his other arm back behind his head. Behind the pillow of the left hand side…

Sephiroth cringed as Genesis pulled the book out into the open, glancing at the cover before letting out an amused chuckle. "And what do we have here, Seph? Research?"

"I was… curious. I didn't want to inadvertently offend you again—"

"That's so _adorable_," Genesis laughed flightily and settled the book onto the coffee table without breaking eye contact. "But, if you want to know something then _ask_ me. Our representation in mortal literature is something like that of a pantomime villain, quite amusing…" the redhead mused with a distant grin. Then he blinked, blue eyes clearing back to the moment. "Lesson number one: vampires are incredibly impatient. _Incredibly_ impatient."

Sephiroth chuckled, nodding and lowering himself back down – with Genesis' allowance – and kissing him slowly, deeply, completely once again. "Incredibly?" And that was when he decided to begin rocking his hips, just slightly at first – enough that the other's reply was a whisper.

"Incredibly."

Genesis moved to the dictated beat fluidly; his expertise as a dancer showing through with the ease of keeping to a set rhythm, but able to throw in added extras that made them both quicken their breath. Or would have, if Genesis did breathe. A twist to the hips; an extended grind where hot met cold so wholly that Sephiroth bucked forwards; the leather on the couch squealed from pressure it wasn't used to. This would be the first time he had ever had intimate company on the sofa, or indeed any room of the apartment that wasn't the bedroom.

Usual encounters with sexual partners were quick, meaningless affairs. Straight to bed and then out the door when Sephiroth actually allowed anyone back. He liked his privacy. He liked knowing that his home was _his_, and that no one else could try to change that by leaving their sweat on his sheets. But Genesis… The apartment had progressively turned more and more into an empty shell when the redhead wasn't here. As boring as a black velvet box was without its sparkling, priceless contents; except instead of one piece of jewellery, Genesis was handful of precious gems. The ruby of his hair, the colour of the coat he always wore; a red so intertwined with his being that even the mere thought of the colour had Sephiroth bringing the beautiful dancer to mind. The aquamarine of his eyes, bluer than any sky and deeper than an ocean and possessing the fire of an opal just beneath the surface: they were all set in a flawless face of white gold.

"You're sure you're okay with this?" Sephiroth asked quietly. He pulled away and stood, holding his hand out to Genesis when those eyes opened into a frown. It was not concern through the other's thoughts towards sex that he was inquiring of – Genesis had over two centuries of experience on that matter, let alone his overtly sexual existence – rather if he felt in control of himself enough to be able to let all his guards down in being so close to a mortal. Could he trust himself not to become lost in the moment?

The redhead paused for a second, blinking, and perhaps wondering if the question was born from self-preservation instincts or a genuine understanding of the guilt that he would feel should he actually harm Sephiroth. Perhaps a mix of the two. A victim's natural impulses could never been defeated and self-doubt never gave up on their whispers from the shadows of the mind.

"No need to worry about me, Seph, more your furniture. Because if my back isn't against a mattress in the next minute, I'm going to have to pull you back down here." He gestured to his current stage with a single theatrical sweep of his hand. And how utterly entrancing he looked. Tall enough to span the length of the sofa, his legs were only saved from dangling over the arm by the fact that they were bent and spread. One arm across his waist and the other behind his head, Sephiroth traced the exposed flesh of the former like a moonlit pathway, to find the bulge of the man in his tight jeans. He was so perfect. Sephiroth mentally scolded himself for being so stupid as to ever assume he was human.

"Time's still going on, Seph."

They must've made it to the bedroom at the last second, because they hadn't even made it to the bed yet when Genesis turned on him. Sephiroth's clothes morphed into offending items; their very being irritating the redhead to no end. Their kiss grew frantic again and they both worked in unison to rid themselves of the things. Each time they parted, they came together twice as eager. The fact that Genesis didn't just roll over and let Sephiroth win was endlessly refreshing and drove the latter on, searching for the redhead's limit; when he would just mould to every whim.

The room was by no means warm, the window was wide open and the curtains not drawn. Sephiroth could feel goose bumps forming where Genesis' hands stroked him, down the arms at first, then down to the hips to direct him backwards, to collapse back into the bed. But then, without contact, as Genesis remained on his feet and fully clothed, instead of chilled he felt… incomplete.

Blue eyes wandered down, a smirk growing wider and sharper as they did so, from the pretty face framed by silver hair; down a lean but well-built body propped up by elbows, milky and hairless and utterly _fantastic_ (not at all like the others Genesis had had over the years), all the way down to the much darker flesh of Sephiroth's cock as it stood, fully erect and glistening in the light as the man moved from his breathing. As much as Sephiroth wanted the redhead to use the pretty fingers that twitched at his sides, he wasn't all too disappointed when they were given another assignment.

It started slowly at first. Just a simple sway of the hips. Either side so slowly, to a song Sephiroth had never heard, but knew was beautiful. Genesis' eyes slid shut; head tilted back, exposing his long neck down to the collar of his shirt. Sephiroth was already enjoying this show much better than the one given at the Cirque. There were no coloured lights here to cover Genesis' own intentions; no shadows to hide his elated expressions and no other men watching, goading and wishing that they could just drive themselves so deeply into that gently swinging body.

There was no nag of 'how many men had seen this dance?' or anything else that shone a light of promiscuousness on the redhead, just a voice of joy that the dancer was _here_, performing for him alone – without the thought of money or nourishment driving him on. Here, having him alone and knowing all the things that made Sephiroth's blood boil and have all those hormones that had gone for so long ignored simultaneously sated, stole the last of what he had once called his sanity.

The headiness that enveloped him was like that when Genesis was playing his games, and yet at the same time not. Sephiroth had full control of himself; the only thing stopping him from assuming a more active role was the fact that he didn't _want_ to. He had missed so many of the redhead's performances and… wished to be reacquainted with what had originally caught his eye – whether or not it was simply a hook manually inserted into his mouth or something he had willingly chosen to bite.

Nimble fingers worked away at the tiny buttons that kept the silky black shirt together, revealing inch after inch of pale skin Sephiroth had seen a few times before but had never admired so openly. Flawless; briefly Sephiroth wondered if the assumption he had reached that day so long ago the first time he had met Genesis in his dressing room, that the man was all regulations of no marking during sex was correct, or rather if any marks healed as quickly as the burn on his hand did when he proved himself a vampire.

In a fluid movement, pulling his shoulders back, Genesis' shirt fell to the floor. Cerulean eyes kept focused on Sephiroth's when they were not closed. They were hazy, dark and entrancing enough that it was a struggle to break the contact to watch the entire show. Genesis ran his hands down his sides, exhibiting his slight curves, to the sharp angles of his hips, only interrupted by the leather belt that kept his trousers in place. Palm cupping around his clothed manhood, Genesis gasped and threw his head back; his left hand ran through his hair and it took every ounce of Sephiroth's self control to not grab his own cock and play along.

This was far more than a dance now. Even Genesis wouldn't be so raunchy on stage, far too refined and unobtainable to display himself obviously aroused in front of a crowd of nameless faces. Soon, hands changed to work at the silver buckle to his belt. Slowly, he drew it apart, never having to look down once to check that what he was doing was presentable. Well practised or skilled, it didn't matter when he was finally finished and the button was undone just as sinuously and the zipper drawn down enough to slacken the skin-tight grip the cotton had on his lean thighs and the jeans cascaded to join the shirt at the redhead's feet.

And that was it. Genesis lingered momentarily, completely bare and the light reflected from the pallid tone of his skin gave him a strangely captivating glow. He had muscle, enough to give him shape, but not one single blemish to him. A smirk graced the man's features as he stepped out of the pile of his clothes to approach the bed. He knelt at the foot, brushing his fringe from his face with a flick of his right hand before crawling across and onto Sephiroth without any hint of hesitation, shyness or apprehension.

Immediately, Sephiroth gripped onto Genesis's hips, to bring him down and closer until there was no room left between them, and the tingling sensation of cold skin was all-encompassing. He drifted down to cup the firm curves of the redhead's buttocks, evoking the man to initiate another steady rock to his hips. Pre-come fluids lubricated the movement of their rubbing cocks enough that it was comfortable; both men groaned, Genesis much louder and unrestrained.

Sephiroth flipped their positions, nestling contently between Genesis' legs as they bent to frame his hips. "You're so beautiful," he breathed into Genesis' motionless lips, freeing one hand only to stroke through cinnamon tresses and down the maddening curve of neck and shoulder.

Laughing, Genesis briefly leant up to kiss the other on the cheek. He smoothed silver hair back behind ears when it began to obscure his view of the jade of Sephiroth's eyes and kissed him again. "And not in the mood for foreplay."

"Hmm yes. Condom?"

Genesis blinked slowly, smirking, bemused. "You're hardly going to catch anything from _me_. A chill, maybe, but that's about it."

"Point taken."

Tearing himself away from the redhead when their bodies fit together so snugly, Sephiroth shuffled up the bed to the small chest of drawers that held his lamp and clock, and in the top drawer located a seldom-used tube of lubricant.

Similarly, Genesis had taken the initiative and settled himself amongst the pillows, under the duvet as if he knew how chilly Sephiroth felt. So close and constantly caressing him, the redhead probably felt the shivers and prickles of hairs standing on end.

After he slid under the covers, Sephiroth made a quick job of slicking his fingers and manhood, eager to sate that craving to feel every aspect that the redhead had yet to give, and claim the vampire for his own. He trailed his hand down, bypassing Genesis' swollen cock, and downwards when Genesis spoke again, quietly.

"I think… I think it would be safer if I turned around."

Sephiroth frowned before catching on and nodding. He hung back enough to let the other roll onto his front. As the duvet covered them, he couldn't get a good view of Genesis' body, but felt how his back tapered down to those gorgeous hips, and firm cheeks that curved sleekly enough that Sephiroth slid easily over and held himself up by his right hand, palm flat on the pillow besides Genesis' head.

Despite the mutual agreement not to play, Sephiroth still circled the other's entrance with the very tip of his finger until Genesis murmured and pushed his hips back, attempting to achieve a suitably deeper contact. Sephiroth lamented the loss of those sky-blue eyes staring up at him - although Genesis' hair was a fantastic colour, tousled and smelling of spice and musk, it was no replacement. But the loss was for his safety. At this angle, not even Genesis, as flexible as he was as a dancer, could bite him.

The first finger met with resistance, a thing that made Sephiroth's inner monster double in size, knowing that for some period of time, Genesis had not taken a sexual partner in; there was no other to lay a claim to this man.

Lavishing kisses to the back of the redhead's neck and finding the man extraordinarily sensitive here by the way he moaned, clutching the pillows and curving his back as much as it would allow, Sephiroth added his next finger. The way nails threatened so easily to tear the cotton of the pillowcase entranced him; having a physical effect on his body in seeing how easily he could pleasure the man whose very existence was based on that feeling. Feeling the twitch in his cock, Sephiroth moved against the smooth skin of Genesis' thigh.

He scissored his fingers evenly, skill of his own practice shining through though he suspected even if he was careless, it wouldn't exactly pain Genesis. A recurring aspect of vampires he had read of was their inability to feel mortal discomfort. They were, however, vulnerable to other, seemingly harmless, things.

Only when the third finger slipped into that tight, though still not especially warm, body did Sephiroth hook his fingers to find Genesis' prostate. The man moaned again, muffled by the pillow and gyrated to repeat such sensations that ran through him (though Sephiroth could not say he knew what they were like exactly), but Sephiroth withdrew, satisfied.

"Tell me, Genesis," he whispered in the other's ear, feeling tempted to take the delicate shell past his lips but refrained… for now. "Can you dance during sex?"

A smirk crossed pink lips; Genesis turned his head far enough that Sephiroth could crane over his shoulder and kiss him. "Give me a beat and I can do _anything_."

With a sharp little smile, Sephiroth began kissing that neck again, open mouthed and sucking gently – light enough to leave a faint mark – and was rewarded by the same contractions of the body, a gasp and moan this time shaped into his name. Raising himself upwards, he angled himself for the perfect entry, given Genesis' arched position. Taking one last grip of the man's hip in his left hand, fingers pressing into the hollow of the pelvic bone like he had wanted to for so long, Sephiroth slid deep inside in one fluid movement.

Whereas a human would probably sound out some sort of pain from the sudden intrusion, Genesis only purred, deeper than his usual voice, and did not request any period to acclimatise. Sephiroth waited, however, more for his own benefit. He was breathless, hunched over Genesis' back. Realisation had come to hit him at full force. The man he had changed and then dropped all morals for; fantasised so long about and who was not even _human_ was murmuring his name as a request for ecstasy. The man was here, _his_, and he was inside of him.

Moving slowly at first, Sephiroth accustomed himself to the strange feel of the redhead. The latter's limitless experience showed through in the subtle movements he made with his body, making Sephiroth more comfortable through adjusting his position. It was almost as if he did not care for his own pleasure – until Sephiroth noticed how he was now reaching further inside and he could feel Genesis' spine curling against his chest.

Placing both hands flat on the pillow, framing Genesis' head, Sephiroth found his pace. Though he had a serious craving to sate, long-frustrated hormones burning him from the inside, he did not rush. Genesis was far too much of a rarity – too special – to simply gulp down. One ages a wine to savour it on the first sip and every one afterwards.

Like a wine, Genesis had complex undertones to him; things that would assure that Sephiroth never had a chance to grow bored. His muscles were so fluid, so well controlled – much more than they even appeared to be on stage - voice enchanting, and he ached to trace the man's curves with his hands. He wanted blue eyes to face him, so he could see the pleasure rather than just hear it. Though he knew Genesis would not do such a thing now (he hoped, at least, but that was his ever-present pessimist that had to be ignored) as to fake it, but his eyes were just too honest, so expressive that it would qualm every doubt he could ever possess. He wanted long, slim legs to frame him, adding to the feeling of encompassing; of the intimate bond that _could_ be made between the predator and prey.

As he rocked forwards steadily, pushing in and drawing out of Genesis to be rewarded with every movement, Sephiroth lowered himself back down to the other's neck, where cinnamon-shaded hair feathered out across pale skin, over the ridges of his spine, kissing it lightly. Getting so deep in a man that held such a potency for his body, Sephiroth could already feel his voice burning in the back of his throat.

Freeing a hand, Sephiroth ghosted down Genesis' side, taking up a new favourite position, resting on the curve of the pelvis. "Is this beat slow enough for you?" he whispered.

Genesis laughed, the sound low and deep in his throat. "It's fine, perfect… just… don't you dare stop."

"As if I could."

Reaffirming his hold, Sephiroth knelt on the mattress and the duvet fell away from his back, and he pulled Genesis upright, onto his lap. Immediately, the redhead was adjusting his pose, spreading his legs; hands covering Sephiroth's. If possible, it now felt as if he was sinking further in, filling their bodies faster to their limits, where the pleasure could be stored no more and would find the easiest way out.

Sephiroth murmured his new lover's name in his ear, unaware of just how affected he sounded until Genesis chuckled again, momentarily grasping his fingers tighter. Angling his head, he planted feverous kisses down his neck, along the motionless vein that still stood out blue against white flesh, though perhaps a darker shade than a human's might have been - it was never really something Sephiroth had paid much attention to. But with Genesis, it was impossible to miss, from this distance when that head of bright auburn hair fell heavily back into his shoulder.

When he turned his head enough, searching for a kiss, he instead found Genesis' jaw slack and open, vocals striking through the silence on each intermittent thrust. For the first time, Sephiroth saw the trademarks of Genesis' species, his fangs, about an inch long and glistening with saliva in the lights. Too claimed by lust now, the danger only sent thrills straight down to his cock and he thrust forwards with more vigour. Genesis chewed on his bottom lip, without cutting it with those razor sharp extended canines.

All too soon for his liking, the moment that marked the start of the final race was upon him; Genesis resumed his movements alongside those that Sephiroth had dictated to speed up, doubling the contact instantly to make sure that their peak was not going to get away from them.

Sephiroth spared one hand to wrap around Genesis' engorged member and pump it to the rhythm, until Genesis stilled, moaning out his name and jerking up, into that palm as a new lukewarmness seeped between his fingers. It was enough, along with the delicious though reflexive contraction of muscles, that drew Sephiroth out from his shell and into the same ecstasy that knew no boundaries and he filled the redhead with a heat that had them both moaning aloud again, breathless and staying connected, rocking together as they rode out the last of the numbing sensations.

Genesis fell face-first back into the pillows, nestling in without delay and smiling contently, a cat replete with fresh cream. Euphoria had softened his features of arrogance, worry or stress. Sephiroth took a second for himself to admire it, stroking the delicate shadow cast on his cheek by high cheekbones. He leant forwards to press a kiss there before sliding out, standing up and ambling into the bathroom to fetch a tepid washcloth.

The redhead just remained still as Sephiroth worked around him to clean him. Thighs, front and stomach, he moved only accordingly to make the job easy but as soon as Sephiroth settled back down, pulling the covers over them both, he curled up against the larger body, head on his chest to hear a heartbeat. It must have been such a novel thing to him.

"What made you change your tune?" Genesis muttered, fingers drumming lightly on Sephiroth's chest, imitating the steadily slowing sound against his right ear.

Sighing, Sephiroth wrapped his arms around the man, his lover, and permitted a curve to form upon his lips. "I understand you, Genesis. I know I can trust you, and that you're committed to me."

Lips pressed against his skin, as cold again as they were when he had first arrived that evening. "You'll still have to put up with men watching me, wanting me."

"Even if you were to leave the Cirque, they still would. You're unobtainable, Genesis. Men want what they can never have."

"And you? Now that you have me?" Genesis propped himself up to stare straight into jade eyes, as curious as they were demanding.

Sephiroth smoothed a damp crimson fringe out of those pretty clear blues. "I love and I treasure what I have—"

"Do you shower what you have in attention, gifts and more mind-blowing sex?"

He laughed, wanting to kiss the man but without the energy remaining to pull him upwards. And Genesis seemed content enough to stay where he was. "I think I could for my most prized possessions…"

The vampire beamed. His lips were parted enough in the gesture that Sephiroth could clearly mentally remark that his fangs had vanished once again. "Thank you, Seph." He lay back down, nestling in comfortably and closing his eyes.

It was the first time Sephiroth had ever _slep_t with anyone, let alone permitted another to linger in his bed. It didn't feel strange whatsoever, rather just… right to let the man remain with him. He couldn't imagine just using Genesis as a means to his own end and then kicking him back out…

But more than that simple revelation, he had just shared himself, a part of his secret self, with the man he loved, vampire or no, and _that_ was certainly something completely new to Sephiroth.


End file.
